No Angel

I think I might hate you. Might, might, do. I hate my sister, hate you, hate you. Everyone thinks you're an angel. Angel hair, gold as the sun, angel eyes, blue as the sky (what if the sky’s cloudy, I say, but nobody listens), angel mouth, angel nose, angel body.

No angel.

Bitch, bitch, bitch. ‘I hate him, I hate her, he cheated on me, she went behind my back. I hate everyone except you, you’re the only one who’s there for me.’ I hate you though. You never realise, and I smile and I smile, but you never bother to look.

Find you with my boyfriend one night, sighing and moaning. Hate you, hate him. Never an apology from you though. Why should there be? Only the little sister, only the quiet, shy one.

Night coming, and you’re sleeping, just next door. Just the next room. Step and step. Jump a bit. That floorboard creaks, and if I don’t jump, someone will hear. And that just won’t do.

Standing over you, a pillow in my hands, and I push it down. Your fingernails dragging across the pillowcase, leaving faint imprints that soon fade away, like your struggles. As if nothing has happened. As if nothing could happen.

And in the morning,you lie on the bed and it’s as if you were sleeping. If only you were breathing. But you aren’ angel hair lies draped across the pillow, and maybe you are an angel now.

I don’t care if you're an angel though. I just know you're dead.