Through the Eye of the Beholder

I look down at my work with a smile,
at the pale and bloodied soul,
her chest is no longer moving,
I know that I reached my goal.

The blood flows from her chest,
and it leaks out of her eyes,
I must have done something right,
because her blood equals my prize.

The warm crimson liquid,
covers her ivory skin,
I then saw off her finger,
just my tiny token.

I place it in a box,
and place the box upon the shelf,
and every time my eyes rest on it,
I get even more pleased with myself.

It will remind me of how she screamed,
how she begged for one last chance,
and how quickly the terror washed over her,
when she was refused just by a glance.

When she said she would give me money,
I laughed and spit in her face,
that was the point in which I realized,
her life I wanted to erase.

I took one step towards her,
as she wilted and stepped away,
pressing her back against the wall,
the blood stain still there today.

The knife sticking out of her chest,
finally stopped its rhythmic pace,
lying dead upon the floor,
I gently caressed her face.

Her finger now sits on my shelf,
the light hitting it's manicured nail,
the colours dance throughout the room,
my breath taking fairy tale.

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