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The memory of that night still plays constantly through my mind like a video reenactment stuck on repeat. There is no rewind, fast-forward, pause, eject... The horror just as fresh as the blood that trickled down her blouse. The crimson red glowed in the moonlight, each new source as beautiful as the last, like poetry in motion, an artists' final masterpiece. Completely magical how her tears blended with my chosen color to create an opaquely pink streak down one side of her neck. The champagne-like nectar, it's bitter taste reminiscent of the bitterness she held towards me, yet I could not get enough. An overwhelming desire, almost an addiction, a thirst I could not quench. The knife was my paintbrush, her gown my canvas, a piece of art that noone will ever see, at a price that one could not afford to pay. I am an artist, and I made beautiful work out of a being so horrible.
You are welcome baby...
