it's been seven weeks, and I've killed 11 people. It's been seven weeks, and I've never been caught until now. It's not like I want to kill these people, really, you can't blame me for their deaths. I get overthrown by someone else, a different part of me that was born 49 days ago. I get brainwashed by power, my mind flipping an imaginary switch that sends my eyes flicking back into my head, turning them into newly shined marbles, my hands becoming weapons, destroying everything I touch. My body isn't mine anymore. It becomes a soul less  tunnel killed with an intense desire to kill, storing my real personality away for later, bringing it back only to see the horrible thing my other self did. I'll stare at the twitching corpse, its mouth hanging open, speaking silent words, begging me for another chance. I plead with hope, wishing they could say goodbye to their love ones one more time before I stole their life, quickening the arrival of their last breath. That's when I don't feel like me anymore. I stared down at my meeting hands, crusted with a deep red sauce, and wonder if there really mine. I touch my face to make sure it's still there, because once your sanity has been eaten away, how can you be sure you're still there. it's then that I collapse in fear, nervousness, and utter, unimaginable guilt. My hands fly over the dead body, covering the sunset colored bruises that coat them, hugging the corpse of an innocent person I barely knew, wishing I had the power to bring people back from the dead, instead of just sending them there. Usually, I skitter out of the room like an afraid mouse, trying to hide from the flashing red and blue lights, throwing my hood over my sopping wet face and running until my feet won't carry me further, and I choke on my own desperate subs. But last time I didn't run. I sat right there and waited for the police to come, because I deserved it. I deserve to go to jail, or maybe even in my life like I ended my victims. I'm not a bad person, I just can't help it. I pull the trigger too fast or throw my hands around their necks, letting them struggle for air. But try telling that to a judge-they don't listen. No one understands me. I'm obsessed, and I don't know how to stop.