Her Last Smile

I cannot say for certain when it started our when it ended.

Only that I end up killed her.

Not with a gun, knife our even my with my own bare hands.

No my crime was more elaborate then any scheme, more sinister and, more bloody then with a knife our even a gun.

No, I did't destroy her with blind fury, rage our even a wicked smile as I commited the deed in cold.

The crime I commited was far more calculated then that threading in her life slowly, like a silent posion whisking it's victim away. The more it moved the more entangled in the spiderweb we became.

The first thing on the crime scene would notice was the light in her eyes, where it once shined so brightly now almost dulled. Faded dark black eyes much to that of a puppet on a string.

The second thing one would notice was her smile our rather the absent of it.

At first I convinced myself that it was all okay, that i was making the right choice, I am but, an expert of that. Justifying my own self-rightous being.

Oh how wrong I was but, of course I would never admit it.

Me? I am all for the show.

So I told her, all the things she longed to hear, soft little whisperes to her heart. Making her fall for me, so deep in love, her life wouldn't be complete anymore. I trully became....

Her everything.

Of course, I wasn't satisfied with that, I wanted more.

If only I could go back in time. I would have done, it different, don't take me wrong not out of regret. Just to make things for myself ever more satifying.

The women in my life when I was with her? They came and went and, I laughed and enjoyed myself with them. Amusment to my soul. A guilty pleasure as one would call it. After all I have my needs don't I?

The smell of roses and cheap parfume was evident as it lingering around me.

I called them my mon chéri, I called them my mon amour. The many fragile roses.

But, her beauty ? It was slowly withering unlike the many roses surounding her. Who where still fresh and, young.

I kept on whispered the words but, they no longer meant anything to her and, I knew I was guilty of sin.

The house surrounding me, was unusually still, as though it was perhaps waiting for something to begin? Only I missread it's ending.

Then the day came, and, I could feel my heart racing in my chest as a mixture of anticpation and trapidation coursed through my very veins. I paused for my moment, questioning reality, blinking once, twice ensuring my eyes where free of trickery, as I saw her, hanging there a neckglass of rope surrounding her.

What could I have done? The questioning raging through my mind as, I stood by as I watched her unravel throughout the years.

Killed by a slow posion only I could pour.

Throughout our marriage she felt, unseen, unheard, used abuse.

And, now all that was left for me, was to blame her.

So I did, I told my family her friends, the twisted narrative of our story.

How she was the one, no longer pleasing me, how she was the one, with a burned out flame.

And, the sweet irony of it?

This world doesn't favour the truth, it want's a story. It want's relatability, emotions, the fact matter to it not.

So those where the words at her, funeral, as I stood by holding the hands of another. Giving her hand, a gentle squeeze, whispering the sweet words of poison dripping in her ear. Admiring the neckglass of gold I given her.

Only I knew, she would be next.