Serial Killer Diaries

Beads of sweat dripping down.
Angst, hidden under her smile,
and under her smile, a frown.

The blood is on her.

She can taste the iron in the blood
of her bloody lips.
Running away from the pool of sweat and blood
dirt and pain
life and death,
Street and shit,
she runs.
Not looking back,
she keeps running,
heading back home.

The blood,
leaving a trail behind her to be found,
finds it's self in front of a funeral.
She slips off her clothes.
hoping to kill the trail in her tracks,
hoping not to be found.
Not wearing any clothes
(but still wearing her heavy conscience),
she slips in and out
of clothes and consciousness.
until she reaches her front door.

She left the key behind.

She finds a way back into her apartment,
and steals a few shirts
and leaves.

They're not her clothes.
They do not fit.
They drip off of her
the way the blood and sweat and urine and pain drip off.
She is alone.
Naked.
Swimming in unknown clothes.
Tasting the blood on her lip
and feeling the pain in her side.

She looks down at this pain.
hoping to find the source
but all she sees is the wall behind her;
she can see right through herself.
Naked and alone
she quickly realizes she's gone,
and she decides to fade,
as the pain felt a few seconds ago decipitates.