[ WP ] Lost life

I loved her. 
 
 I know that may seem paradoxical given the circumstances, but it ’ s true. In fact, it ’ s the reason I ’ ve done what I ’ ve done. 
 
 I loved her, and this was the only way I knew how to cope. I hated it. I was her prisoner, her slave. She had me wrapped around her finger, bending at her ever whim whether it be conscious or unconscious, said or unsaid. She had me exactly where she wanted me, the manipulative bitch. Every word she uttered, every mannerism she had I would pick apart and analyze hoping for any clues, any insight on her feelings. It hurt to hide myself, I suffered restraining myself from erupting into a rainbow of emotions while being kept in the dark about her ’ s. And she knew all of this. Oh, she knew it well., She was quite aware of the profound and lethal effect she had on me, and she milked it all she could. 
 It was unbearable. 
 Every song I would hum, every story of poem I would jot, every single damn thought that entered and escaped my mind was due to her. All due to that cryptic, manipulative bitch. 
 It was torture. 
 I would spend night after night in front of my trusty Scotch, taking swigs from the bottle while contemplating grabbing a fistful of prescription medication and mixing it with my next gulp. 
 
 I was furious. I wanted to fuck her, then strangle or bludgeon her before tossing her in a raging river. 
 But at the same time I longed to hold her hand in mine, caress her cheek softly as my lips make contact with her ’ s. 
 
 I knew the former was excessive with high risk factor, and the latter was downright unrealistic So this was my solution…and I don ’ t know exactly what to feel. As I stand over her cold, bloody, lifeless body with this kitchen knife still dripping dark red color on the carpet…I still don ’ t know exactly what to feel. Despite the organ of which my blade punctured, she was heartless. Or am I the heartless one for murdering her? 
 
 No. 
 
 I killed because I have a heart.
