Statement of his Crime

When at last he got caught, the understated poems are nothing for the department. He is nothing but a criminal. 

Part 1:

Would you call it a crime? But he said, "That’s my art."
It wasn't a surprise, he made her aware of his arrival, 

a familiarly sickening melody.

The tune predicting the approaching anxiety.

An angelic face with the devilish eyes.
With a calm and sincerely frustrating heart.

That's all what the brain last registered.
Pale face with a pale heart.
The work was done. He left.

Dissolved in the air at a distance. 

And the remains were just the cold metallic smell around her sublimity he created.

That was His Art!

Her screams echoed in the valley of the dolls. Where every doll slept like her.

He fathered the art by ornamenting it with, duct-tapes, a clown in snow and rose-petals on her blood.

Quill~

Part 2:

He repeated the same melody.
Similar actions. Like you're hitting the button, REPEAT!

"Does that make any sense? You kill people for fun? for Art?", Spat the detective.
In response, he smiled and said.

"Killing is an exceptional Art.
I kill to create, create an Art nobody could dare to think of.
The art nobody has thought about.
I kill, cause I need to be fed.
You see, I am hungry. This hunger has no end.
I could never stop eating.

I kill so that I could feel.
Feel their anxiety, fear and pain.
Feel their last breath over my face,
Before their shutter closes forever.
My face forever with them.
Do you know how delicious is the sweet smell of blood,
freshly carved out of their soft skin.

It is an Art, just like fishing.
You go near the clear water
Pond, wait for the perfect
Moment. You stab the dagger
Right into the flesh and Voila!"

Quill~