By L. Weaver

 

The way he looks at me 

      — electrifies my soul.

 

The way his muscles ripple

— when he drives his knife

into not only my heart,

— but into the heart of his opponents.

 

His hair, 

— red as his victims.

     

The way his tattoos line his skin

covering saddened — scars.

I need him

— like I need oxygen.

As a friend.

As a lover.

— Soulmates. 

 

Doesn’t matter.

I just need — him.

He is my everything.

So long as there are people in my way

— I will always 

have a reason to kill.