IN MY DARK TIMES

IN MY DARK TIMES

Hope is a damnable thing.

I saw hope in her eyes when she was running, that maybe she would be able to outrun her set fate and maybe get away, or that someone would come and save her.

No one came. She didn’t outrun me.

She died, by my hands.

I watched her beating heart in my hand still warm and blood dripping from my palms to my boots. I remember the high I felt when I saw her eyes roll and blankly stare at not breathing she took her last breath. When I could still hear and feel the faint pump of the heart before tossing it down beside her.

then I cleaned up after myself, making sure not to leave a single fur that could be traced back to me. Making it a clean murder.

A delicious I am, under the delicious pressure of the showerhead in my house. I shiver and it’s not because I am cold. It’s the sweet release I finally feel after a successful kill like tonight. It works the knots in my body. A sweet release, a necessary letting go of all the little tensions inside.

And a