• The papers blank. So was my heart as it sank through your soul. You tried to write me a love letter and stained the paper black with blood. You crossed your pen across my heart, etcha sketched your love for me. Always in infamy. Words like fire, hot as ice. Burning through my lungs. Screaming take me higher. Floating up above the scene of the crime. The murder plays in slow motion as the victims sweet cry, sweet plea to god echoes like a broken song. Shrieking like a violent symphony. Always in infamy? Isn't that what you said to me? You filthy whore stop trying to make me see. Let's shift the focus now, back to our bloodthirsty ecstasy. Maybe you forgotten me the soon-to-be-unbreathing victim of this murder scene. This apocalypse bends my knees and thrusts my lungs like drums beating through my chest. The all to familiar gurgle of blood sounds through her lips rasping her throat, it floods her mouth and she chokes as the adrenaline snaps at her limbs, spazzing into stillness, as the silver flashes in front of her and her skin begins to sting. The heat of her own blood running down her chest, knowing she's dead is the only comforting thought the mangled creature still holds within. Always in infamy. The killer etcha sketched upon her skin.