I want to kill my mother

I watch the blood Splatter against the walls Making a spider web of red I watch it pool at our feet As her lifeless body falls Happiness forever in her gaze As blood runs down her neck Like red tears From where I slashed her throat I stare at the knife In my bloody hands.

I often contemplate the homicide of one person in my life I meticulously plan scenarios both quiet and bold to rid me of this critic, this hypocrite, this abject failurethat judges me for every little action, every decision every lie ever said, every truth blurted even words jotted down do not escape their condemnation.

That I won't be labeled as a murderer I don't need another label, I have plenty Liar...loser...incompetent...failure.

Sometimes I want to confess these frantic ideas

Scribbled confessions before I cross the line between victim and sinner

Yet I stay quiet about this growing darkness within

The problems I have, no one quite gets

Telling me that things will change, that I can't let it get to me

But what do you do

When you've already been gotten?

When every moment you expect commentary on how far down you've gone

Taking a life seems as easy as a couple of pounds of pressure

Or slamming your foot on the gas without thinking about afterwards

When its said and done, they'll put me in a tight space, put a suit on me

Then someone will put me away forever, never to see the light of day

But it would be over

I often contemplate taking one life

One life that will make this all stop

I just hesitate every time.

It's an innocent murder a justified killing

I would feel no remorse now lets take this nice and slow and let my despicable actions run their course.

Scream all you want, I want to hear it

I want to witness the fear and traumatization in your eyes

I want you to feel the same way as I do, incarcerated inside

Drawing blood is my fascination Think of it like a roller coaster: slowly ascending to the top and building anticipation for the drop Instead, there are no recreational carts dropping, and no people screaming with adrenaline The only things falling are the bodies of my selected victims.

Cutting through limbs and chopping them into tangible pieces

We are told that killing is evil. But I dare ask, is it truly?.

Look beyond the morals that have been instructed, look beyond the laws.

I could tell you that killing is not evil, for only the killer is evil.

In the end, all the same Lifeless shells of flesh and blood

Murder its a blissful sport, murder it can seem distort, the first kill you never forget, although mortals seem to never get, one thing you must remember is never to regret, Get your scalpel cut it deep, make her scream, make her weep, make her suffer, make her hate your name, let her see your eyes and your anger her wrists and let her fall, watch her bleed and die in pain, then hide the body, somewhere deep, somewhere the bugs don't Evan creep.. this is my killers instinct, on which you hope you'll never see.