Murder of a Sister

I look at my hands covered in red, sticky blood.

 

Look over at my sister below me, bleeding out.

 

The knife is concealed in a bright crimson red,

 

Sticky and iron rich.

 

My thoughts go to places I never wished they would.

 

I ask myself why, why choose to murder?

 

Poor, dear old sister.

 

You and I never deserved this.

 

Why did I decide to murder?