I killed her.
I killed everything inside her, just like that.
I killed her with a cold weapon last night.
I felt insane and incompetent.

I killed her with my weapon I used only that one time, only on her.
I was saving it for my final loss of control.
I was hiding it from everyone, even from myself sometimes.
I didn’t believe that I could do something like that.

But I killed her.
I was laughing.
I wanted more.
I wanted to destroy her in my own way.

And I did.
I killed her with my cold hands, holding her so tight.
I killed her with all the things I’ve done.
I killed her with all of my love.
And she loved that.

She wanted to be killed.
She wanted from me to kill her.
So she could be born again, with me.
And she does that all the time.

I’m a murderer.
Killing her softly with my existence.
And when she’s dead, she’s alive.
She told me that, but that’s our secret.

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