《A Writer and A Serial Killer》The Serial Killer

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he takes her hand

so small in his

and they leave the house in the gloaming

he keeps her hand

holding tightly

and when they have left the houses and the smog and the people behind

he settles onto the grass of a shadowed hill

and tells her about his boyhood

she listens silently

fingers knotted into fists

her voice is quiet

when she asks him

are you killing them?

and he understands what it is to be vulnerable before someone

his soul stripped bare for her to see

he breaths in

and whispers his answer to the stars

he sees the devistation on her face

but she doesn't speak

she just leaves

like everyone else

why didn't he see it?

once they see his truth

they all leave

he doesn't see the tears on her cheeks

doesn't hear the soft sound of her footsteps

there is blood in his ears

in his smile

on his hands

and he leaves with something unhinged inside of him

they should all

be afraid

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