We love you, Diana Lane

There’s a smudge down
the mirror but
the image is clearer than it has ever been.

Although linens hiding
your arms swear
they mean you no harm,
karma crinkles your
dress of
flowers under
duress.

The stress circling your
eyes, hazels that’ve lost
the will to
persevere.

All you hear is
their
insults and
cruel lullabies in
empty lavatories,
etching stories of
survival
in white,
hollow stalls.

Morning will
come and you’ll haunt
echoes between
these walls,
Sharpie crescendos
transcribing
your fall,

of a young girl
five feet
tall and ninety
pounds soaking
wet.

And every time
I walk these
school halls, time will
slow to a crawl as I pass
the windowless room you
met your
maker.

We loved you,
Diana Lane, but He loved
you greater, professing
it through
single blade razors and
menthol cigarettes.

I hope you’re
at peace now.

God knows you paid your debts.

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4 thoughts on “We love you, Diana Lane

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