Confession of a Serial Killer



Maybe it was the way she looked at me

Her big doe-like eyes

Trusting and demure

Or maybe it was the way she shivered at my touch

Soft and gentle like hundred fluffy towels


Whatever the reason

My hand tightened around her throat

Her eyes

Now reminiscent of cats eyes

Widened by this contact

As the realization registered in her stupid mind

If humans had tails

Hers would have been twitching violently


Even as she struggled for her every breath

Her nails, claw-like, cut deep into my left forearm

Causing a satisfying grin to my feral mouth

Donít misunderstand me

Killing is always pleasurable

But it is more rewarding when they struggle


Her left foot began to twitch

Kicking and flailing about like a fish out of water

I could actually feel when her life left her body

I donít believe the human language has a word

Nothing that could accurately describe

The intense euphoria that courses through me

At that exact moment of her soulís release


All I can tell you

Without touching myself

I came

I do every time

Itís the only time


Written in response to Rob Hawes' poem "First Cut"



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