A Perfect Murder

-She bled to death, died before the words left my mouth...
Somehow, my tongue slit both her wrists and throat in such
unison, such synchronicity the sound of her skin opening
resembled a choir of dying seraphim. And I didn't even mean to hurt her.
I whispered in her ear, "I'm not happy here."
-Her heart stopped before she shed the tear.
My words plunged deeply into her chest,
as if her breastplate was a tissue paper collage
composed of what little self esteem she had left.
By the time I was done talking, the blade was so far in
you could only see the period that ended the sentence.
-I thought I had one foot out the door before her body hit
the floor, but I didn't. The sound of her head bouncing off
the ground sent chills through my soul like the screams of
suffering children. I brushed my hand over her curly locks and
could feel her dying beneath my fingertips. I killed her with
reluctant (if not unconscious) efficiency, she was murdered perfectly,
and my words left no fingerprints.