Confessions of a Serial Killer Part 1-
I want to be someone else so bad I could explode. This self-induced hell is getting too much to bare. Why do I  do these dreadful things? The scarlet pools cover the wooden floors from her beautiful head... I pace with an anxious, almost euphoric empathy. The scars that cover me bleed for all of them. I never meant to hurt her, or anyone else for that matter. I still visit their shallow-dug beds on especially lonely nights, and I weep. I merely do what my voices ask of me. The killings are methodical and gruesome, yet surgical and humane. I put my headphones on, and listen to Mozart as I dismember their bodies, disposing of them with all the respect I can give. Oh God! What have I done!? A bloody cigarette burns in the ashtray, as the third movement of Don Giovanni comes to a close. I have regrets like anyone else; I just can't help myself. The monster that dwells within me has an insatiable thirst that can never be quenched. So, I simply exist to serve it. I am so empty inside, and I feel absolutely nothing...