Life After Life

She lay before me.

Her pretty face was

Turned away;

Such a shame.

...

She usually kept her hair in a short plait

But now it was spilled across the white carpet.

It was a nice, canary yellow colour-

A bundle of glistening sun.

It was a pretty colour indeed.

...

Looking at her now

Who could ever think that

She was dead?

Death was not a word anyone

Associated with her.

No one.

...

Apart from me, of course.

...

From the first day I saw her,

I knew that she had to die.

Only death could show everyone her

True beauty.

The beauty of death.

...

I placed a black, withered rose

Upon her chest and smiled.

Her curled claws for fingers gripped it tightly.

...

Her face.

What a beautiful expression she showed

When she saw the knife.

That scream, her scream-

It was magnificent.

...

Death is the true art.

...

Did I tell you that this rose

Was once white?

...

This girl was a work of art.

She mistook my hatred for love;

She called every day

Hoping for an answer.

She was boring.

And I never kept anything that didn't

Thrill me.

...

But, I have trailed off.

...

The white was slowly turning to red-

The carpet was now ruined.

I thought and sneered-

She would have been so upset.

...

The room itself was dark

Apart from the soft golden light

That came from the two lit candles.

She prepared us dinner.

...

I picked up my glass of untouched wine

And emptied it into a small flower pot

With a blooming white orchid.

...

I watched the flowers wither and die

Together with the rest of the plant.

This wine represented our relationship quite well-

It was just as poisonous and

Disgusting.

...

Before I left the silent flat

I turned to look at her dead body again.

To enjoy it.

Then, I walked out of the apartment

And slammed the door shut.

...

It was a cold winter night

But I was unable to feel the cold-

The memory of her curled body

Has kept me warm;

Warm and happy.

...

Then I saw her.

...

She was walking alone,

Crying to herself.

I smiled-

What a lucky day this was.

...

Then, I followed her.

She was my beautiful,

Beautiful victim.

...

Even if I take

Life after life,

I will never be

Neither caught nor punished.

...

Why, you ask?

...

I am but a shadow,

I may even be following you right now.

But you will never know,

Not until you are lying

Alone,

With a withered rose

Upon your chest.

...

Death is an art,

An art of living.