The Killer In Me
I kill them. I kill them and cross them out and by the time I’m down with them my next victim’s already at my hands, marked, as others line up, ready to be sacrifised. I can’t remember when I started, nor the first victim, nor its name. Just that there was a second… and a third… I’ve killed so many. Some where young, with long blond hair and big bright eyes. They smelled like summer. Others where gray and sad and you could cut their tension with a knife. There were also those with pale skin and dark, blue tinted hair, surrounded by a mystery lost. And I killed them. One by one. Sometimes I think I can stop, but then I start doing it again. This needs to end, before there’s nothing left, before they take revenge and kill me instead. And yet, as I write these words, the one I promise to be the last is taking its last breath and dying in my arms.
