Sitting here staring at the screen and pondering life at the moment. Not sure how to come back from this. How do I rebuild my sanity and my life from what I did? How I did it. How I ripped the hair from her scalp and watched her bleed and cry while I bashed her head into the floor over and over till she could not make another sound.
What should I do? There can’t be a god. Why would god sit there and watch me commit this act and sit back on his golden white throne? While i smash this poor girls head into the fucking floor like a maniac. Is this who I am? Am I a monster? Am I a god? How do I judge this woman for what she does and decide if she lives or dies.
And now I wait. And now I must sit with all the thoughts. No matter how many times I wash the same towels and sheets washing the blood in the tub, I can’t not think about that horrific scene. Its imbedded into my fucking brain. I can’t think let alone breathe. I’m not a poet. I’m a killer. And a good one at that.
I think about death all the time. Wondering when death will knock on my door saying it’s time to go.
The constant hunger I crave. That passion I get with that devilish smile upon my face wondering who i will kill next. And I hope it’s soon. The pain and agony an screaming and crying as they bleed out and scream and cry and want me, as they beg to fucking stop.
The peeling of the skin and the smell of the flesh burning as she begs and begs and begs. And here I am again. Washing the sheets and towels, blood running down the drain. As the nightmare doesn’t end.
No amount of vodka or scotch can ail me in this time of need.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 
chilling !
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