March 10, 2008
By Alexandra Sornson, Clarksotn, MI

Chelsea was friendly on the outside.
After Chelsea spent twenty five minutes speaking;
We all relized she was fake
as the make-up caked on her face.
The plaster melt: her appeal to the
student council faded as well:
Along withn her shamrocks.
Chelsea's luck had finally run out.

Inside chelsea,
was a deep black
heart of coal.
While everyone laughed,
Chelsea's stupidity reached it's peak.
Dide she really think
She;d get away with it?

Murder a hateful morality.
Blood on shirt, gun in hand,
Admiring her work on Betty's
lifeless bofy; she had the motive
to prove she was guilty of taking a life.
Cold hatred.

As if I felt the dark shadow
of pain, shifted from her body to mine.
My body clinched with the thought, of her walking away free.
It was bittersweet seeing her:
hand cuffs, orange jump suit,
and her pretty little smile wiped right off her face.

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