Disturbed

I saw her that night. July 4th, to be exact. She just got out of the bar. Wearing that red, tight dress. She was my first victim. Golden blonde hair. Nice figure. Beautiful eyes. I remember when she saw me. She was so nice. She was so polite. But I was obsessed. I invited her to my place. She said "okay". I invited her to my place. I said, "You look so beautiful tonight." We walked to my place. The air felt hot. | had these images in my head. Images of her. That night went according to plan. Well, at least my plan. I didn't plan on getting caught today, however. But why did I let that last girl run? Am I really getting soft? The judge says I'm disturbed. I guess he's probably right. He sentenced me to life, but this is really my death. I choose when I die. I choose how I die. One last act of difiance. One last choice. I've always done things my way. My death is no different. With the noose ready, I depart. I will always have the last word.