Open Curtains

You acted as if you didn't know who I was at the police station,
but who I am is not really important.
What is important is the fact I saw what you did on that late October night.

My eyes looked out across the city lights.
Enjoying the fresh air - cars honking, sirens blaring, people yelling.
As I sat on my patio chair, I saw into your life.

Thirty-two floors up from the crowded streets you thought you would be safe.
Nobody could hear their cries, nobody could see what you do,
but this time you left your curtains open.

You ripped her clothes off and touched her breast as she fought you off.
Tying her hands and feet to the chair, you stripped off your clothes.
Tears started to roll down the women's face as she realized what was going to happen.

You ran your knife across her body,
not cutting her just reminding her who is in charge.
You untied her arms and legs, and made her perform acts as if she was your personal slut.

When you were done having your thrills for the night,
you threw her back into the chair, and retied her arms and legs.
For on last thrill you ran your knife along her nude body and then yours.

Placing the knife on her cheeks, she started to cry.
Running the knife gently down the side of her neck,
and with one swift horizontal stroke, her head slumped to the side.

As her crimson red blood dripped on to the black garbage bag
you had placed on the floor, you grabbed your wine glass
and sipped some of the crimson red wine before it cooled.