Fear and Loathing in London

She glides effortlessly

over the cobblestone avenue

Blond hair blowing in the fall breeze.

Her movement halts when she hears

my shoes' click-clack in the distance.

Her heart races

So does mine.

Her head spins, yet she sees nothing,

but the black.

She picks up her pace,

So do I.

Now I stand behind her.

She can feel my presence,

I can taste hers.

Hand over her mouth

silencing her fear.

My blade slices,

air escapes the gash in her throat:

A whore's last breath. 














Don't forget to read the other two Jack the Ripper poems: from the police's point of view http://danielperrucci.blogspot.com/2013/02/chasing-satan.html  and from the victims http://danielperrucci.blogspot.com/2013/02/footsteps.html