My suicidal cure (part 8)

Confirmation

Another suicide, second in two weeks,

Take a last drag upon the cigarette, 

Before stubbing it out,

Curse myself for starting again...

Yet it tastes so good.

Walk into the house searching,

Freeze in horror...

A bouquet of flowers upon the dining room table,

Betwixt it like a wolf amongst a herd of sheep,

Protrudes two blood red carnations!

Not even the sobbing from the kitchen,

Nor the stench of death permeating the house,

Catches my attention.

Mind racing, second victim, 

Proof?

No, they will still call me mad!

Pluck the two flowers roughly,

I place them in a bag.

None notice, it speaks not to them.

*

Before me hangs a body,

The stench is overpowering,

My handkerchief is insufficient, 

To stop the offending smell.

Everything is perfect for a suicide,

No marks of struggle upon her flesh,

Except...

Her eyes stare at me accusingly,

Urging me to tell them the truth,

But how?

It is all so perfect,

So deliberate! 

I look once more upon the swinging corpse,

As flashlights photograph her like a model,

In her beautiful repose of death.

I take note of her sagging flesh,

Downward pulled as it rots.

At least a week she has been dead,

Dancing here...alone.

Soon the dance will end 

And they will take her down.

I leave the room squeezing the flowers,

Taking the truth with me.

*

To the kitchen I speed,

Where the aroma of putrefaction is less,

I look upon a crying man.

Pathetic!

From what I have been told,

He is the reason for all the tissues strewn around.

A cheater, a user by another name,

Yet here he sits crying...

I take a seat oppisite,

Look deep into his reddened eyes,

Tears are genuine I decide.

Upon the floor, I see the shattered cellphone, 

I surmise he is the cause.

I waste only a few moments questioning the fool,

He is of no use!

I leave him to his melancholy and depart.

*

Outside I breathe in the fresh air,

Draw it deep to clean my lungs.

I light a new cigarette and draw deeply...

I should quit again!

I exhale and watch the smoke float heavenwards,

Another murder...not suicide,

How to prove this?

I feel eyes burning into me,

I look around and see no one, 

Yet the feeling persists,

He is out there watching me,

I am now his plaything!

I kill the butt beneath my boot

And glare all around one last time,

Before returning inside.

I will figure this out,

This is the work of a serial killer!

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