the second last girl

i am not the first of my kind,
but i am the last a thousand times.

they get the second-last every month,
every week, sometimes every day.
they're sure to let me know.

they circulate her face
they circulate her face
and letters coalesce to form her name
headlines sandwich her within their uncaring folds

her murder, her destruction, her elimination is almost an afterthought.
unremarked by the world
unremarked by me
just another reminder

in the light of the truth, all you can do is bow.
the news is a heisenberg messenger
it determines the truth of what it delivers
and it delivers death

unending, unceasing death.
Girls Like Me.
Most of the girls like me are gone.

and her name is a thousand tiny knives,
the second last girl.
her name is a million unspoken promises.
her name is a vault of scripts
in languages I'll never speak.
her name is Fire,
and her name is Outrage,
and her name is Violence,
and then they use her name up
and the second last girl is forgetten.

Even by me.

And then they find another one.

I am not the last of my kind, yet.