Confusion of a Killer

Poem like, when your true love is murder, these are the thoughts you subconsciously think...

I stare into my mirror. I see my broken reflection.

 

I’m covered in her blood.

 

I see it streaking down my cheeks, on my neck, shoulders, arms.

 

Had I been bathing in it?

 

I can’t recall. I reach out and touch the shattered mirror, my finger slitting as I press it to the shard.

 

I pull it to me and press it into my mouth. I taste metal and salt. I recognize my own flavor, that simple taste mixing with my iron rich blood that runs through my entire body.

 

And I taste hers.

 

Her essence is on my fingers, her crimson essence. The taste reminds me of her love, her smoky smell.

 

I sighed and reach out, bracing myself to the wall. What had I done?

 

Had it truly felt good to force that knife up inside her? To slip open her warm flesh with the blade?

 

I knew the answer. I knew it had felt wonderful. Better then the strongest ecstasy.

 

To see her body open with the blade, to see the flesh give way, and the blood gush onto her body. It had sent chills through me.

 

And I wonder, how could I do this to a girl I loved? To the only girl willing to drive in the other lane for me?

 

And I know killing is my true love. I made her mine by killing her. When I pushed that knife into her pounding heart, I sealed her as my own. Now no one could do the things I had done to her.

 

And that knowledge is what keeps me killing. What keeps me up at night crying. What keeps me confused as to if I love myself enough to take this pain away…