Have you ever loved so much, you would kill?
Have you ever let the pure passion blind you, until you had no idea what you were even doing, until you felt the weight of a gun in your hands, and you have not regained your sight until your fingers squeeze the trigger?
Tell me, have you ever made a mistake?
I'm certain I have.
I'm certain we all have.
Though sometimes I do fear it is too far to turn back. I've wasted many hours contemplating the host of mistakes I've made before, I've spent many hours staring at the river surrounding this boat, wondering if I too should die, and merely throw myself off. Would that be a suitable punishment?
Was I jealous?
I often ponder the words.
Was I jealous?
Is that why I let my love blind me? Corrupt me, poison my soul, black as sin, marking me forever, forever known. I suppose I can never find the answer.
People paint love to be a beautiful thing. I've seen the books, I've heard the songs...
But in reality it's something far worse.
Love's a poison.
Take a small amount, you may live. But the second you let too much drip into your lungs, the second you inhale it just too much, the second you allow it to choke you, that's when you know there's no going back. For love corrupts you. It reaches inside you and poisons your skin, it corrupts your heart, rotting it to stone.
It brings forward your worst fears, your most private fantasies, and taunts them in front of your eyes.
It takes over, controlling you until it is
too
late.
I fear there's blood on my hands. More than I wish.
I suppose I was jealous.
In the end, you cannot control the hearts deepest desires. You cannot hide them for long. I was enraged. I never planned a murder. Oh the places we end up.
And now I am trapped.
They are bound to figure me out. If they do, shall I die too? Or need I pick them all off, to keep my secret.
I suppose murder can be a drug too.
It's all that's been on my mind since.
Perhaps I thirst for the thrill, the race of my heart, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the feeling of the gun, the body, watching the life drain out of them, and the satisfaction of knowing you won.
If murder is a drug
then surely love's a sedative.
You cannot stay awake for it
you let it take over
until you have no control over your actions.
I must base you adieu.
Surely I will not remain here undetected for long.
