Conflicting Thoughts of a Killer

This is a piece of writing I constructed to represent the conflicting thoughts of a murderer. Each new line is a new thought.

I'm a good man, I tell myself.

I don't know why I did it.

Maybe it was an obnoxious way to show my gratitude for every bitter thing that man ever did for me.

The way his jaw clenched so hard that his brittle teeth became broken and crumbled.

Did I break with them?

I'm a good man, I tell myself. I was a good man.

Or did the goodness in me get taken away when I took him? A trade of sorts.

How can you tell where the good ends and the bad starts? I thought people were either one or the other.

My hands can't pick up the pieces. They're foul and filthy and taste of rot.

I haven't washed it off yet. I don't know why.

The way the blood has stained the cracks of my skin. The way it represents something important.

It's a trophy. It wasn't easy. It's a reminder.

It's a constant.

I'm a good man, I tell myself. A man with empathy.

But that b*****d deserved nothing but dirt in his mouth, in his spit and in his throat.

His eyes swelling, pulsating through his skin.

I'm a murderer, I think.

But I'm a good man, I tell myself.

Author's Note

Feedback is very welcomed.