Murder of myself

It occurred quite late last night,
She was alone, deserted, no one with her,
But then perhaps, that may be the mere reason it happened.
It was long before the first round of rumours started taking place,
They commenced as whispers,
Soon to take the form of word of mouth,
It would be later however, when I would hear of it.
From close allies, distant acquaintances alike,
“I heard nothing was left”
“She was finished fully”
“Not even a tinker of any remnants”.
Brutal, if you ask me, savage and ruthless.
Commendations must be given however, as I think it to be a crime of passion.
Body dismembered, but arranged quite properly beside,
No heart to be seen of course, seems almost treacherous.
I imagine it to be foul play but the events seem…hesitant,
Sadistic and masochistic no doubt.
I heard she didn’t cry, brave girl that one,
Didn’t even scream- happily gave in to the ride to hell.
The corpse was wrinkled and bloated, as if it was drowning when recovered,
Shoulders were broken, a lot of burden she might have carried, I presume.
Her eyes, oh, her eyes. The red color, deeper than my blood.
If I correctly understood, the cause of death was ruled asphyxiation,
Strangling, after torturing of course.
Good riddance, I say.
Nothing but a burden that child,
Always crying, never happy,
Rebellious, ungrateful, ugly child.
Then again, I can’t help but feel an inkling of sorrow,
Poor little girl was believed to be the poster child for all things good on the face of this earth,
Naturally ruling out accidental and natural demise, let alone…willful demise,
She had to speak up,
After all, someone had taken away the poor girl’s ability to die.
I heard she was troubled even, before passing,
Happy moments she must have had, or so I hope.
I did see her dancing once or twice, ever such a faint smile,
A fragile smile,
One that broke, no doubt.
I hadn’t realised that she was in a dance of death.
Regardless, what am I to say that will matter?
And yet, the police thought themselves but the wiser.
“So do you know what happened?” they ask me now.
Hilarious, I think to myself.
Isn’t it obvious?
“Why, there’s been a murder of course! A murder of myself”.