a chick from hell

he ran cold,
standing there by the road,
a gaze shot to that building,
that fifty fifth floor she called the office,
in days that today had come before,
insticts had talked of something wrong,
and he and sweet friend instincts a long talk had,
for many things in her now had been turned,
her dressing,
those mother teresa garments goodbye she bid,
and alas!
a welcome of those paris fashion house pieces,
slits that more than flesh a display was,
a seat to take always a problem was,
her hair in many ways she did,
her face now knew what make up was,
and yes we can a motto was,
but this change came too soon,
friends in silent thoughts a red alarm did sound,
code red,code red in zipped lips did shout,
little did they know a chick from hell she was,
and so he crossed the road,
and took an invention to that floor,
he welcomed self thorough an open door,
to an office that none in was,
trying to think another room voices let,
no doubt in happy times someone was,
a step to the key hole,
a rated scene he did see,
behind the desk time she never spent,
for on top of it pleasure she found,
it tore his heart as the handle he took,
in angered and shaky strides into hell he leapt,
but who could blame him for such,
at times a little fury hell has...