“Do not worry my love. You’re with me now.”
I smoothed down her tussled curls
and carried her towards my bed.
Sweat smeared the insides of my elbow
coming from the fold of her bent knees.
Again she screamed
and struggled against me
but I held her fast.

“I can’t let you go my love. You are my chosen one.”
My eyes widened with the realization
that I have finally gotten what I need
and more
was still to come.
She became still as if in shock.
Her lips pressed together in a hard line
and like child she went into herself
thinking that she would block the coming
experience
from her mind.
But there was no place for her to go,
for not even in the recesses of her mind
would I let her go.
She would feel everything
that I gave to her,
and in the end she would
thank me.

I am death,

and it was her time to leave this earth,
this was my way.

I laid her down
and her whimpering became less.
Her eyes were moist
and glistening with unshed tears.
“How beautiful you look.”
I whispered in her ears.
My lips closed around her lobe
pulling
down on the cold skin.
Could she feel my growing heat against her?
Each wrist I bound
each ankle I tied,
I will not let you get away my love.
“I want to share myself with you.”
I kissed her chin
I kissed her eyes
and warmed my hands against her *******.
She whined
I soothed her.
“Don’t cry my love. Don’t shed unnecessary tears.”
I looked her over slowly
lingering on her *******
gingerly
touching her heat,
which I could feel pulsing beneath me palm.
She wants me.
I knew she would.

Staring into her eyes
I could see the fear that
I wanted,
could she see the lust
reflected in mine?

******.

I think it’s time for another ****.
Soon though,
soon I would confront him,
and he would not fare as well as my first.

Though indeed he would be different from the others,
someone new,
or maybe like my first in his own way.

I’m feeling reminiscent.
I’m feeling lonely for fear.

Where a tear would have welled
and fallen
I felt an emptiness.

My love.
My first and only love was in that girl.

Each death afterwards was never the same.

The abstraction of that day was ironical.

The sun shone and yet I felt no warmth.
The underlying freeze forever coating my flesh made it so.

The perpetual aura of filth that accompanied death,
that integrated throughout my protective membrane,
made me trash,
an anomaly cast into the world’s garden.

I had once heard the term of life described as a savage garden.

Indeed the sardonic cynicism of the very phrase
made me to feel like a worm weaving between each green shoot.

I am the necessary horror,
and my only purpose
is to find the dying flower wrinkling about the edges,
smudging the atmosphere of closeted peace,
or wrapping myself around a ****
that threatens the delicate balance
between
what humans choose to see
and what is tangible.

In this I strive for perfection.
I am the worm,
the earthen worm
sliding amongst the filth
and nutrient of soil.

And yet still I am the gardener
wielding my *** to rake out
plants that give the impression of being beautiful.

Yet appearances can never hide the truth,
and like I,
the stench of filth
and stagnated death (me!)
always hovers over those who think themselves
above the rest.

He was arrogant,
from that I knew
when I first laid my tearless eyes upon him.

I watched and partook in a distinct arousal
that only killers can feel
when a soul is trapped inside its tortured body.

I watched silently,
as still as the darkness itself
as he stripped the very skin from his prey.

Nothing else can compare the sound of screams
issuing from the mouth of the dying.

The sharp constant pain resounded
as a bell chime would,
spreading out over his deaf basement walls,
to my willing ears.

I felt nothing sympathetic for the ******.

This man,
this man, insane and still fully sane
became another one of my countless prey.

How enticing!

This man,
who killed others,
intrigued me.

I want to touch him,
to kiss those lips set in a hard line,
red and full against his pale face.

Those gray eyes as cold as my flesh brought me into him.

Oh yes.
I will **** him in such a way
that he would wish he was never born.
OH YES!

The devastation of his retribution
would be so total
that there would be no place within his mind
in which he could retreat.

When I think back to him
I realize that he was my favorite ****.

The way he wreathed under my touch in absolute agony,
the way his eyes would roll
until the strained veins would burst
so that he was crying
watery blood replays within my mind
when I have no **** to gratify my lust.

What I savored most
was the white flecks of condensed spittle
that formed and frothed in the corners of his mouth.

“Please…P-Please.”
She whimpered against my neck
as I pressed it against her lips.
“What my love, what is it I can give you?”
My control was waning
as I unbuttoned her shirt,
exposing her ******* to the chill air.
They were ripe for me
I could almost feel them
grow under my hands.

“Please…”

she stammered again.

“Don’t do this, you don’t have to.”

These pleas were only superficial
I knew,
but I understood that she accepted
her fate.
The look was one of surprise
on my face
as I slid my hands slowly down to her jeans.
I let the question go unanswered
as I unbuttoned them.
I pulled the zip down.

“PLEASE!”

she screamed,
the saliva choking
as she pleaded.
The tears ran heavy
down her cheeks.

I couldn’t help but kiss her trembling mouth,
or to taste to salt of her tears.
A low laugh escaped from me
as I buried my face in her curls.
I inhaled deeply
letting the scent of her
shampooed hair overwhelm me.
“I can’t stop my love.
I’ve been waiting so long.
You’re my chosen one.”

Her whimpering became sobs,
uneven and lovely,
as I pulled down her jeans
leaving only her nakedness
between
her and I.

Then it was my turn.
Her eyes never left me
as I pulled my woolen sweater
over my head,
or even when I let my own jeans fall
to the carpeted floor.
Again I sat atop her,
hovering
for a moment
looking in her fear stricken eyes.

Those dark inhuman eyes.

First I let my lips enclose hers.
And though they were unwilling,
I could sense a trace of resignation
in her rebellion.

She was breaking.

“No, no my love.”
I grasped her in the palm of my hand
and her gasp, her open mouth;

I took slowly,

gently tasting still that cigarette
on her tongue.

“Please.”

she muttered.*
But again a stronger sense of her resignation
sounded
and when I let my fingers slide
in her
I knew she had given up.

She was mine, utterly.

I slid in her then,
knowing that she would be fully ready to submit to me.

I was never rough;
I was as death was intended to be,
natural and peaceful.
In and out,
in and out,
like breathing,
until her muffled sobs became sinuous
against my ear.
In and out,
slow and never rushed.
Her arched back
her fluttered eyes
all signs that it was almost time.

The waiting was almost painful
as I burst within her
sending death throughout her limbs,

watching the life escape
and rise slowly from her
until she lay limp on the bed.

Her soul,
her life,
lingered a moment longer
before I reached out
and sent it up towards what lay beyond.

“My love.”

I whispered against her deaf ears.

“My sweet love.”

I dressed her again
and left her outside with the other bodies.
Yet she I left farther apart.
Watching as the snow covered her
until she was only a mound of white.
Already buried in a grave
by nature.

When we look back on this moment
Will we be saddened or amused
Thinking of this moment
Did we do all we could or intended to

At any given moment
It could all come to an end
So let us take this moment
To do all that we can

We will see what is important
In the scheme and scope of time
Cause there will never be another moment
Like this moment in life

pap
pap
pap

I can't breath
my stomach is bubbling
like hot cheese
on an fresh oven pizza

my legs feel skinny
I want to lean into a wall
the floor looks spinny
the wainscoting is squint

my vision is blurry
because...tears?
Why is there worry
in my middle?

I feel fine,
my mind is sound
this fear isn't mine
what’s it doing here?

What is this panic?
Fight or flight I understand,
but this is plain manic.
I need to go

at top speed
or maybe hide?
Either way, be freed
from this distress.

pap
pap
pap

Push someone over,
human shield that ****
reduce my exposure
to hyperventilation.

Shallow in,
shallow out,
I feel akin
to sprinting Mufasa

Pure distress
acute discomfort,
a proper mental problem. Nonetheless,
it’s strange to foresee the diagnosis.

It’s as if I’m watching
from someone else’s skin
as alligator clamps are botching
holding my physiology in.

A sunburn on my innards,
a paperweight within
you’d think I’d feel pride
for finally having something wrong.

Hypochondria being accurate  
the years of inventing doom,
suddenly isn't aberrant
those fabrications had substance.

Or maybe all these thinks
are symptoms in themselves
after sifting through piles of shrinks,
maybe I can finally get some help.

pap
pap
pap

Look at my pretty framed prescription,
doctor certified, messy handwriting,
this will take some decryption...
don’t worry, take your time,

this pathoreaction won't go away.
I’m told desolation
is a temperament set to stay
until after eighteen simple payments.

I’m inclined to reject treatment
of drugs that fiddle with the mind
I’d rather stay present,
continue inconsistency.

I would like to try narration,
see how many kilometers I can recall.
I can deal with frustration,
so let’s talk about my childhood.

Public transit without destination
sends me on a revere,  
an absence of crippling desperation.
I've found peace before

it was between yellow poles,
in the outside pocket
of a backpack on parole.
It smiled at me quietly.

pap
pap
pap

Apparently, it’s the small things
that help you deal with anxiety.