Her

He had an epiphany one night,  
Of something he might  
Do to her who wronged him,  
But not on a whim,  
If he is to do it, it must be planned out,  
Well thought out,  
He made sure to go through all the semantics,  
Making sure to get just right all the mechanics.  

Every night, just before sleep,  
The nocturnal nightmare vine, would creep  
Toward his mind,  
Its black rose, blooming within his mind,  
Thoughts of dark delight, and sin,  
Were created and fostered within.  
Its scent so fresh,  
Like that of rotton flesh,  
Like the Corpse Flower,  
May repulse others, not him, however.  
 
The woman he had his heart set upon,  
The one who did wrong  
To him and his lover,  
By getting too close to her,  
Even if it was only for a role with her.  
 
And on this night,  
He knew all would be alright,  
As he chose to fulfill his plan,  
And put into action his plan  
To do away with the tart,  
And make glad his heart.  
 
So for the coming weeks,  
He saved up, and prepared for weeks,  
Searched, and searched, for the place to find her,  
So that he can take her,  
Torture her,  
Make her  
Regret hurting them, and kill her.  
 
When he finally did get her,  
He played with her,  
The addictive game,  
With the name  
of life,  
With the cards life  
Had dealt to her.  
 
He burned her, and for that he did laughingly yell,  
"Slap a poultice on that!" In her hell.  
After a while,  
He started to stab her for a while,  
Seeing her sweet, sugar blood flow,  
Was almost too much, his heart did glow.  
 
He cut a smile into her face,  
She was "happy" to be in that place,  
You could tell by her face!  
He didn't do too much to her face though,  
He wanted all to have a window  
That they would never forget,  
Into the depravity, with the open casket.  
 
On a night serene, but so cold that he could have sworn it was absolute zero,  
There was not a mosquito.  
He dumped her by fruitwood, in a field,  
Naked, and nothing to wield,  
(Although, she was dead, what did it matter?)  
The only danger,  
Was him, getting caught,  
But he was not fraught.  
 
On the next morn,  
He drank coffee, and ate a danish, as the news did warn,  
Of a killer on the loose,  
Whom a woman did loose,  
Her life to  
(She had to).  
 
For her friend, his lover did weep,  
Crocodile tears, he did weep,  
As he comforted her.  
The comfort, genuine,  
The tears, un-genuine  
Felt bad for his lover,  
But not the murder.  
He knew it would all work out in the end,  
She didn't really need that particular friend.