“If I can’t have you, no one else will”. He often said.
The finger prints on the bathroom floor punctuated his deeds.
Traces of evidence printed in her bedroom signaling struggle.
Moments told in commotion, insinuating contempt.
Tendencies are ironies in wait.
Walking through a quiet interrogation room with his face
Lowered to the ground. The stench of hate in between
corridors. Rude stares along hall ways, women of farce
gossiping and jeering. Beckoning the lines of hate equivalent
to stab wounds. Remorse didn’t come easy for a crime he
committed. Pain and regret haunted him like a ghost through
the night. Memories still as vivid, his actions still fresh.
Her cries of pain resonating with the distant wailing siren
as he stabbed his lover in the bathroom.
A warm beautiful body turned cold and pale.
A vibrant life lost in the moment of a heated argument.
A beautiful future shattered by jealousy, mistrust, paranoia
and security culminating into violence, and leading to death.
Amidst panic and confusion, he almost created the perfect
crime scene. Her family and lawyer called it a suicide.
The police called it a crime of passion. Question marks
signaling his intentions. Traces of DNA carefully hidden in her
cold carnal fortress. Logic couldn’t let him think straight.
Guilt mocked the lines of his face, and created contradictions
in his speech, leading to misguided opinions and altered
allegations. Solid alibis were created and scapegoats framed.
Words didn’t add up, he panicked and spoke carelessly.
Stutters and gibbers amidst truth. His palms became sweaty
and he started crying; the lines of guilt.
Stings of regret following an aftermath of murder.
Crying foul, praying and asking for forgiveness.
Pleading innocent to a crime he could have avoided
if he had controlled his temper.
A sad confession culminating into pain and heartbreak,
he became a moving controversy, a shame to all lovers.
A cold blooded murderer, a criminal.
Branded, labeled, chained and convicted.