Creative Writing 2

Readers: The following poem is what I wrote in response to an assignment for my creative writing class. We looked at a post-secret picture (if you don't know what that is, try going to postsecret.com, it's really cool) and had to write a response to it. My postsecret said, "I'm ashamed, I hated her for dying."

I would really like some critique on this poem before I turn it in.

And no, it is not cheating, because my teacher encouraged us to get it critiqued.

Also, I'm in need of a title, so if you have any suggestions... :)

Death.

Pearl-drop death

squeezed so painfully

and precisely

onto my microscope slide-

Death has a name:

Cindy.

Cindy, mother-

Devil worshiper!

I-

I am

a Devil worshiper!

I got into the forest at night

to drink of dead fish eyes,

kneeling before black and shriveled fern fronds,

placing my forehead upon the soft earth

scented from a night rain.

Digging my claws

into dirt flesh

that clings to my face like leeches,

groping in the underpinnings

of the dusty frost,

screaming into my belly

for retribution.

"A day too late,

A day too late!"

Flinging aside darkness after darkness

until

the stars shine crimson.