Girls hunt in packs
They sniff out the weak ones
By the scent of insecurity
Like blood on the air.
They like to play with their prey
Taunting
Teasing
Before tearing her apart
With their painted claws
And their sharp teeth behind glossed lips.
Girls rarely kill
They prefer to maim
Then watch the injured struggle
As they laugh.
You can hear them whisper
As they approach
They don't try to be stealthy
They know she won't run
There's nowhere to go.
Girls hunt in packs.
submitted to One Shot Poetry Wednesday, Week 39 at One Stop Poetry
also submitted to Photograph Prose
also submitted to Photograph Prose
