Breathe.
The rough air filling my scratchy throat.
Nervousness.
It consumes me.

Have the fear,
Belong to it.
You should have no worries, my dear,
It will only hurt a bit.

Slowly,
I will cut off your oxygen,
Leaving you gasping.
I hope you’re ready for this.

Maybe I should slit your throat,
Blood spilling over your new dress.
White like a dove,
Turning crimson like the evening sky.

Beginning of a new night.
Who do I kill this time?
Who has shamed the moon?

The routine of a killer,
Goes something like this:
Every night,
Everyday,
These thoughts melt their minds away.

They belong to this madness,
They give into it.
The most complex of minds,
We do not understand.

We shun them and sentence them to death,
Yet they are sharper than the knives they use to kill us with.
Their blood blacker than the darkest of nights.

They will hunt you down,
Rip parts of your skin off,
Tossing it away,
Laughing.

Don’t be afraid though.
You’ll only live for a short time in their hands,
Before you’re dead.
Before you reach the wandering lands of ghosts.

These are the thoughts you’ll go through,
Before they twist your head,
Making it go snap.