My ears have become sharper

I can hear everything

The sound of church mice

Although this trait is useful,

It comes at a price.


My heart beat has quickened

Nausea overcoming my body

I can feel it drawing to an end

The solving murder of my dear old friend


I can smell my own sweat

Smell it easing out of me as I wait for justice to come

Mad am I? This panic I feel

Are my fears imagined, or are they real?


I can feel the wheels of the policemen’s mind turning

A rush of uncertainty comes next

I feel as though a cold glass of water has been poured on me

My body tenses, their faces grow full of inquiry


My vision distorts as I spring up

I rip the floor boards to show my horrendous masterpiece

Although I am free from this guilty epidemic

I remain captivated by my treacherous deed