Introverted By My Thoughts [✓]

Serial Killer

(P. b.)

I remember the smell of that room so vividly;
Pungent smell of lust, and obsession, spreading across the room.
Clothes lying in disarray all across the marble floor.
Sweat dripping,
Hands gripping.
Breathlessly exhausted,
Our bodies fell gently unto the bed.
Yet another tale, of my many one night stand,
Had just come to an end.
Or so I thought.

That night, she told me story;
Of a little girl, who all she wanted was love from her own parents.
But was always left in the hands of her uncle, who stayed over, to babysit;
Because mummy and daddy were always too busy.

She was nine, the first time he came up to her.
He told her he loved, a special kind of love.
Desperately in need of love and attention, she believed him.
Knowing the fact that he loved her, made it seem all worth it.

The last time he came unto her,
She was fifteen.
Just before he died in a car accident two days later.
His death left her broken, empty, unloved.
A void left to be filled.
Nothing, she ever did, felt enough.
It always, wanted more.

The room grew still cold, as she came to an end.
Silent tears rolled down her cheeks,
Just like it did mine.

While she slept, I cried that night;
Bitterly, broken, and enraged.
She was too young to understand,
But he was a grown man.
How could he ruin her future, just because his lustful needs?
How could he be so selfish?
Such people don't deserve to breathe.

But then I cried even more, at the irony.
Here I was criticising him for his evil deeds,
But of what difference am I from him?
There she was sleeping so peacefully,
As beautiful as ever.
Broken in all the wrong places.
And I took advantage of those broken pieces,
Just to satisfy my lust hunger.

This was only her,
What of the multitude of people that go through this, in an entire lifetime?
How could I be so selfish?
I am worse than even a serial killer.
At least they put people out of their misery.
While I only inflict damages, that last a lifetime.