Jack the Ripper

The broken edges

of your words

make tiny cuts on my skin

and the blood trickles

down my body

and leaves a trail

two-and-a-half years long

and as red as the eye

that has not slept

for waiting for that which does not come.

 

You speak so freely

and you’ll talk to anyone

who comes your way,

and you leave a trail of bodies

from the cafe where you have breakfast

to the bedrooms of this city.

You keep your brokenness hidden

with your practiced smile,

toned arms, rock-hard abs,

and defined leg muscles.

 

No one dares to look

the gift horse in the mouth;

forgetting there was a horse

made of wood once

that felled a mighty kingdom.

 

You walk calmly

through the city streets

and we are unaware

that you’re taking victims

with words as sharp as knives.

 

If I were not alone,

someone would have found

my dead body by now,

face down and a bloody trail

leading to that place

where you first said hello.

 

But if I were not alone,

I would not have been easy prey,

and love is a weapon

that we never see coming.

 

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