How to start off this poem?

The words they don’t come easy,
Nothing sounds quite right.

I've done so many terrible things,
How can I possibly expect you to relate?
It is impossible it's a dream, but here we go anyways.

I believe this to be my destiny, my fate,
Even though every action is mine.
So when I tell you this story, please try to understand…
That you can’t.

Beginning under a starless sky,
With the orange glow man creates for night.
I fly on the wings of the innocent,
The blood and tears of those who… have died.
They fuel me, and feed me. With their pain, with their face.

I walked down that road,
On the wings of a satan.
And all those around me,
Smiled and puked.
And oh, the terror in her eyes,
When at last my journey reached its conclusion.

My eyes, although they are not quite eyes,
Bored deeply into hers,
And the pools of water parted for just a second,
And I could see my own reflection.
So… intense. So… lost.
I’ve been in snowstorms at sub-zero,
With more warmth than those not quite eyes.

Every beat of my heart, and every breath I took,
Implored me not to think,
But to **** in my just agony,
But think of the lies that would create.
I had been looking so long, so hard,
Just to **** the one thing I want to save.

This woman, in her intelligent innocence,
Pure as the blackest coal,
Born for me, as I was her.
Who challenged me at last, at first,
Not to slay, not to slaughter.

At first I laughed, in a bitter theatric…
But as it settled and tears created disaster…
She held me there, in her hairless arms,
Cooing and creating a space for banter.

I am almost as confused as you are.
Speaking so honestly…
I didn’t know what to do then or now either.

But I will say one last thing,
Something you may not want to hear.

On that cool winter night, I ate her.