There’s a heaviness that comes with bein’ a killer, darlin’. The hearts of all you murder live inside you forever, swimmin’ in your mind like tadpoles that can scream. I hear ’em in the night, callin’ my name from their tombs. Sometimes they whisper like crickets. Other times they screech like falcons on fire. And all over again, I can smell their innards and taste their pretty cunts. I kill ’em over and over, and the blood runs like the river, takin’ me back into that sweet, red world of nightmares and pain.
