3

The Weight of Nothing

I sat in my room

Staring at my hands.

They were clean now.

No trace of blood

No sign of what I had done.

But I could still feel it—the warmth, the weight, the way life had slipped away under my fingers.

I thought killing would change something.

That maybe the emptiness would shrink

That maybe the world would feel different.

But it didn’t.

The silence in my apartment was the same.

The walls still pressed in on me.

The city outside still moved without me, like

I didn’t exist.

I had taken a life.

And nothing had changed.

I lay down on my bed

Staring at the ceiling.

A thought crawled into my mind,

Soft and whispering.

MAYBE ONCE ISN'T ENOUGH

I turned onto my side pressing my face into the pillow.

Maybe the first kill was just the beginning.

Maybe I needed more.

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