I'm Sorry Baby

I'm sorry baby, It's true. What you heard on the news, What you read in the paper. Your friends talked about it all the time, The thought of it terrified all, Even you. You always said I was the most compassionate, Loving, Caring. Your children I would watch for you, Your dog I walked, Your mother and I talked, Your father and I built, Your brother and I raced. We would make love for hours, Passionate was the word you used. You would look deep into my eyes, And say you were mesmerized. I'm sorry baby, But don't worry. It's true that I am that man, The one on the T.V. The one in the "Globe". The posters too, Are about me. You used to call me Romeo, They call me the Gothic Death. All around town I have gone, Searching out the right people, Then stealing them in the night. Papers print dark pictures of me, You knew me closely, My voice, My scent. I'm sorry baby, If this scares you. The others I steal, And take to my den, Underground, Beneath the house. I came home late, So many times. I'm sorry baby, It wasn't you. After a week, If they hadn't died, I killed them. You asked why I smelt every night, I told you I worked in a slaughter house. You never checked, But there wasn't one, Not in 100 miles. I would drag the bodies, From the den to field. You asked for my work number, I said there was no phone, You got me a cell phone. For your birthday we went to Vegas, That man that spilled his drink on you, He was my first victim. You worked every day, In a little diner. Every now and then you would have a bad day, I asked why, You gave me the story of the customer, The one that yelled, Complained, Made bad comments. I'm sorry baby, Don't feel bad. Those people I fed, To your dog. Once you told me of a kind old lady, She was very sweet you said, But she couldn't move anymore. You said she was wasting away in her house, Losing more dignity every day you said, You couldn't bear the thought of her, Being alone, Crying, Dieing. You were right though, She was sweet. For valentines day I made a stew, You had three helpings, I think she was glad to have fed you. Last night they found my field, They followed it back to my den, They raided the whole place, The squadron of six men went in, And took all of my stuff. I'm sorry baby, But you can't tell anyone of me. I will stop my ways, I won't kill anymore, I won't make those stews that you loved, I won't leave them in the den. But I have one more thing to do baby, And I just wanna tell you don't worry, It's not your fault what will happen. I will make my stew six more times, And then I will come back for you. Written March 23rd, 2002 © on Mar 23 2002 08:59 AM PST   18 • 0 • 10