Rippa

She uses combat knives to make incisions on her offenders.  
Blood black as their funerals. 
Every moment instantaneous,  
Like a flash of lightening.  
She lives to kill.  

They were always heavy burdens,  
Unwanted Nuisances to be more thorough.  
She can recall,  
Merely discarding the threats? Isnt she?  
It felt right to her, 
How could it not, with Justice as her excuse? 

Axes against their heads, a noose hanging his,  
Cold hands collapse his neck,   
Abrupt appearance around the corner he turns, 
Ammunition to his core, 
They will breathe calmly nevermore. 

Once she beheaded one in God's home.   
The saints glared at her disturbingly, 
Their glares crawled into her skin,  
They seemed to boil her already burning blood, 
Hyperventilating, she gets up as she holds her empty, racing heart,   

She ran out of the cathedral, 
On her knees screeches to sky, 
Why do you do what you do?, 
He never replies, 
WHY?!  
He can care less to reply, 
Nerve wrecking is his silence. 

Unintentional tears crash against the filthy ground, 
It's worth as what it's made of, 
Dirt. 
So are they. 
All those bodies discarded with disrespect. 
Souls repelled against the sky 
Drenched in the clouds and they strike, 
Like red thunder.