[I was not sure if I wanted to post this or not. I have been working on a short story about a sociopath for a couple months, which I am excited to possibly finish by this summer. It’s a bit dark. Anyway, this writing is much, much older but gives a taste into the short that I am writing.]Outside her window, the crisp wind tears through my clothes in gusts, Watching her sleep softly through the night upon the softened plump bed,
Subtly imagining my body upon her, stifling her screams between thrusts,
Afterwards, splitting her open to hide my secret in satin sheets colored red.
For a few more moments, the thought echoes in my mind and cleverly I grin,
As the smile vanishes, I detach all emotions, knowing where I have to begin,
I am quickly pacified by the panic that I could inflict upon the woman’s heart,
In the moment, she will gurgle questions of “why”; however, I must not impart.
My eyes turn to the sparkling stars, contemplating this freedom so easily spent,
Laughing at those that gaze to the eccentric heavens for guidance and consent.
Leaving the pane, I unlock the backdoor with the key she places above the sill,
My boots softly tread through the kitchen, nearing my way to the bedroom door,
Walking by dimming flames in a fireplace that earlier had removed the cold chill,
I pause in my footsteps, wondering if she should come here to moan like a whore.
Notably, by the furniture in the living room, there sits a pile of books and papers,
Added information on my victim will only add to my debt when paying the pipers,
Intrigued, my fingers leaf over a small diary bound in leather with a simple red cord,
I pluck it aside and open to the delicate pages that write of this woman’s life adored,
She scribbled, in her own hand, of things felt in her heart of significance and worth,
Nowhere in the writings can I find my name, and so I toss it to the ember-like earth.
Turning to the bedroom, I crash through the weakened door eager to see her visage,
Her bloodcurdling scream echoes through the house, and I take it in with appreciation,
As she backs up into the pillows on her bed, defining her innocence by her cleavage,
I keep all expressions off my face, although satisfied, before acting upon temptation.