Death’s Grip

My third poem from the eyes of a serial killer. ©2010

The snow is blinding my eyes as I wait

Waiting for the one who will take my breath away

An hour passes and then another

As I sit watching and staring into nothing.

At last with a cry, I jump from the car

“Lily. How’ve you been?”

She looks at me with a curious expression in her eyes

For I know she’s never seen me before.

I play everything out like we’ve known each other for ages

“Don’t you remember me? I’m your college friend from Yale.”

With a little more probing I finally manipulate her mind

Get her to open up to me about her life.

I nod and gasp at the right moments

She’s such a delicate fragile little thing

Almost like a flower that has blown in the wind

Across the snowy landscape I deftly take her away from the suburbs

Into the country right by the sea.

We get out and I lead her to the water’s edge

Staring out at the white ice that shines under the moon’s light

“It’s OK. We’re going for a walk.”

Swiftly I grab her hand and walk across the ice with her

When we get halfway out to the sea the ice starts to break

I push her to the ground and shove her under water

She struggles desperately and almost pulls me under with her.

“Knock it off!” I scream and cuff her sharply across the head

Her head hits the ice and she loses consciousness

I watch her sink into the bottom of the sea

Now all that is left is a little blood where her head hit the ice.

The cold winter of death wraps her in its grip

I raise my head and gaze at the horizon

Then turn back and walk to my car

The snow will fall and cover my footsteps and no one will find her until spring.

By that time she’ll have been eaten by sharks or swept out to sea

Maybe no one will find her at all

“Lily,” I whisper into the night

But my words are lost on the wind.


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