The mind of another

I prefer the use of a small knife, becuase it allows me to get intimate with my victims falling in love with the way the blood splatter covers me when I pierce a major artery, its very arousing to the touch how at first its warm and then quickly cools against my skin.

Ofcourse I have to position myself right and the best place for such lovely patterns across my skin is when standing directly in front of my vicitim followed by a quick opening of the skin with my slight of hand, they hardly know what hits them really but its makes the splatter so much more the worth while the way they look up at me in wonder as to what it is Ive done, at first they try to thrash around and move away to run but all of them weak.
They have no chance of escape it only takes a firm grasp on both there arms to hold them up and recieve the splatter that I love.

The sound how I love the sound of there last breath its always so deep but shallow, its so silent its ear pircing but its so easy for the untrained ear to miss it, for those that linger through life so easily sure over look the beauty of death.

All they seem to care about is hanging on, and it makes it all the more sweeter knowing that they had all the time in the world to change there lifes around but only now they even attempt to keep there lives and live.
I pitty them and its why I love them so much, why I embrace them before I leave them where they lay, its the pitty that draws me to them, its there pathetic behaviour in even attempting to live when they know it is they are dead.
All the time in the world to live they had and only now is it they want to keep there eyes open.
Its such a shame they need my pitty to understand they never lived and even wanted to at all.

But to achieve this it takes great skill and cunning I first must lure them to a secluded spot out of the reach of the untrustworthy eyes of those who want me stopped, of those who dispise me not becuase they know me but becuase they think they know me, who are they to judge me?

how is it they could know me at all unless they have done the things I have done unless they choose to do the things I do, I spit in the faces of them all.
They are all out to get me its what they want, all of them want me dead, and if only they knew it was I that was standing in front of them would they have so willingly followed me to where I let them rest?

I love to look them in the eyes as the last of there life drains from them, I like to sit and watch there empty lifeless eyes for a while, pondering as to what it is they could of been as if it was me in there place, I wonder as to how and what i could of been if it was in fact me that was born in there stead,

I like to think how if I was them if I would of so eaily been killed by one such as myself and if it could of been myself that I killed but that is impossible how could there be more then one of me at anyone time? Iam unique but they dare put me into a sub catergory and label me with meager writing, when in no way can simple words desrcibe me, Iam life can they not understand that. without me they would forget they even lived, and settle comfortably into there deaths as if they were never even born at all.

what it is i have stolen from them, I like to ponder this becuase it eases my pain as to who Iam, I like to make it my own for the simple fact I dont like who Iam, I make them mine with the taking of there last breath, becuase I despise them for not understanding me for not knowing me, but assuming they do mearly by what they have seen on the front page of the news, Iam not the news but yet they force it upon me to be the news.

Why me?