choking insanity

one dropped dead

one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—eleven—twelve—girls hopping around on the olive stained grass with stiff smiles smeared on their shaded cerise lips, and their happy as a shattered popsy can be! with their hands grasping on as they sway in wobbly circles of lovely lies of youth and—oh no!

one dropped dead.

one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—eleven—girls sitting by the blood stained river sharing prattles of despair, with their hands pressed against one another's ears as they scowl at one sitting down near the red pool by herself. her finger reaches down and stirs the cherry water, and—thank god!

the rumor tide drowned her whole.

one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—girls rushing to the table, one by one filling the chairs with hazel bags in hand. the white room's chatter echoing as the gods are warning,
one spot left! get there brisk and you'll survive!
with three (teen) girls heading to the table they—oh no!

two are dust.

one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—girls brushing their nails with fatal paints, red (blood), blue (poison), green (ivy), with their cerise shaded lips curled as they blow whispers and—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—wait! where's eight?

not asked but found too late.

one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—girls, desire for admiration drowned in a cup, offered by the devil, one sip, and people will line in your favor! but the gods are weeping, beware of the repercussion that comes from within! the venom at their lips, but one didn't drink and—why so mean?

they poured their poison words on her.

one—two—three—four—five—six—girls picking (dead) flowers of their future, the thorns of harmony are dried to the stem. prickly, sickly wine spilling from the honey that drips from the patels and—screaming is pounding the devil!

the flower throttled three.

one—two—three—girls counting friends on blood stained fingers with ghastly grins and haunting sayings, though one must go! for the fear of veins leaking out of their mouth like blisters on the sun. one, two, three. which one will it be? the devil only picks the most tragic deaths and—finally!

one choked on their own shame.

one—two—girls standing in a field, believing the devil is gone, gone, dead. oh! how they (she) was wrong, wrong, wrong! because the one of the left, is holding a lethal dagger dipped in red tears and—is she dead?

one stabbed the other in the back.

one girl standing at the cliff of sorrow, regrets of her past friends spreading through her weedy bones, no one but the devil standing next to her and she can't live. her ink smeared cheeks are frightening and her cries are ghostly, and she can't live. though with her hands peering over the edge—oh no!

she dropped dead.

—
okay time for a little explanation on what this is about; so basically it's about people leaving a toxic friend group (if you didn't know/get that already) and each paragraph goes through someone "getting kicked out" and also my health teacher said something like "you're lucky if when your older you can count the amount of friends you have on your fingers" and i was like wow good poem idea