The Buck Knife Killer
A Collection of Poems
Birth
I don't remember the day I was born,
Just as no one else does
But I certainly remember the day my urge was born
The day my darkness came to light
And I’m certain that this craving started to grow
The minute that my body did as well
Memories of those days are now more blurred
The only memories I hold tight now are all very slurred
Many sweet visions of terrified women’s eyes
Eyes of women facing their demise
Always the same
Her life left her body behind
While my pocket knife opened her throat
Most “experts” say that serial killers
Are formed through childhood abuse
But that was not my life
I came from a loving home
A hunting home
Just trying to feed my urges
Kill my demons
Isn’t that what we all do
Isn’t that simply life
We’re born
We die
I kill
Buck
On my seventh birthday
I received my greatest gift
A pocket knife for hunting
From my father’s own collection
Killing, gutting, cutting, cutting
The things I could do with this knife
The first time I grabbed that wooden handle
I felt flowing through me, new life
Coated in gold on both its ends
I felt both strength and capability
That I knew my body alone couldn’t possess
And suddenly I was obsessed
“Buck” is what that handle said
But I couldn’t shake the feeling
A feeling of exciting opportunity
A feeling...
That my new knife would be used for much more
Than just bucks
Romeo
The first victim of my new knife was in fact
Not a buck but a frog
I watched it hop,
Leap, and stop
Its movements so complex
Its life so pointless
How many other frogs there are
Certainly this one won’t be missed
But oh the mess it caused
I didn’t expect
Yet the mess significantly worse
When I killed the possum,
And the rat,
And cut off the limbs of
An already dead cat
But all those were meaningless kills
The one that brought me fear and joy and power
The one that brought me emotion
The one that made me feel human
Was when I took the life of one worth living
One less willing
I didn’t hate my mother’s cat
But I didn’t love him either, we’ll leave it at that
As I felt my knife push through his stomach
I felt a sudden connection
A respect for my mother’s dear Romeo
That he had lived his life so long
Yet I could take it from him in one instant
Emotions I’ve never felt
Flowed through me like a cancerous welt
I knew I had to cover it up
Make Romeo’s existence disappear
But oh how messy
How unclean
Imagine a human body
Cut at the throat
Cut in the stomach
Cut on the legs
What a beautiful mess
Not a slight trace to be found of Romeo
That would be harder with a human
I didn’t realize it in that moment
But looking back at the little man
I see that the day I took Romeo’s life
Was the day that mine began
Connection
Romeo’s death helped me learn why I was different
That in order to make a connection
My knife needed to make an intersection
But the connection didn’t matter
If the soul wouldn’t be missed
That was the meaning of it all
The human race
The chase
I was a mouse
And everyone else of the world seemed to be a cat
But this mouse could kill cats
Clean
Burying a dead cat is simple
Cleaning up the blood is more challenging
Hiding who did it
That is the hardest
With a human it is more difficult
Instead of a sad mother looking for a cat
Losing hope as each day fades
There are many police officers
Looking for a man
To put in their big cages
To feed their pride
To keep the label “cold case” out of their files
To feel that they make the world a better place
But a better world for me
Does not include an orange jumpsuit and beat up face
I must keep myself organized
Clean, always clean
I must keep my tools organized
Clean, always clean
I must keep my cuts organized
Clean, always clean
I must keep my movements organized
Feet on eggshells, on tiptoe, always ready to rise
A hunting knife, a small ax, a bowie knife
They will stay hidden
In the black box under my closet floor
Just as my urge will be
Both in hiding
Both encased by darkness
Only when the time comes
Will they emerge together
Out of darkness
Into darkness
Urge
There were many pretty girls at my college
For some reason they always drew me in
The beauty and mystery of women
Their scents
Their hair
Their ease
The way they stepped through the halls with pride
Prancing around like felines after a successful hairball
Was dislodged from its throat
The urge
To fill that empty throat with my cold knife
The urge
Kept me awake at night
The urge
Grew as I grew
But I could never expose
That urge
To my school
Feel
She was loved by many
And watched by me
I knew one day we would have a connection
I would make it happen
I contemplated setting it up
Creating an area to take her life
Where clean-up would be easy
Another one quietly gone from the species
But that isn’t a chase
That isn’t a rush
That doesn’t make my heart beat
Make my body feel that sudden heat
Inside my cold chest
I needed to feel
Fear
Love
Excitement
Danger
The minute that blood began to spew itself
From her small, olive colored throat
I felt
All those things
All those unplanned things
Emotions that you cannot fake
Emotions that you cannot force
How naturally it came
That respect for her
That fear of the police
That urge slowly leaving my body for a minute
Just to come back stronger the next
This must be my life now
The urge will never leave
My first kill
Oh sweet girl
Sleep forever in this forest of green
Cold
Serene
Vast
You will not be my last
Wait
Oh how I learned from each one killed
Oh how I love how each of those nights were filled
With emotion and power and blood as it spilled
These nights I was the rat
But I was the Pied Piper too
Luring them in
Leaving them buried like the other few
The mission got easier each time I cut
Each throat seeming more ready
Each grave more unchallenging to dig
I knew now how to use my knife
My ax
My shovel
But how to defeat the urges
Make myself wait
That was the art which I couldn’t seem to master
Every time
The kill got faster
Sam
As I grew old the urge just got stronger
But the feelings got weaker
With each kill it became easier
To hide from the police
To quiet the women’s screams
My knife no longer brought me
The power
The thrill
The pleasure
The connection
It once had
So now I will put my knife to rest
Within my own esophagus
I feel no remorse for the women I have killed
For they brought me so much knowledge and life
That I couldn’t accomplish alone
I will give the police the information that they seek
But not the power they desire
They do not have the skill to lock me up
But my bones are tired of running
Never possessing the fear of being caught
They’re losing their motivation
I am the one that beat the rat race
I am the sole victor
But what’s the fun of winning
If no one hears the shouts of your victory
So I leave this poem here
With a woman named Samantha
You will never find her head
Just as you never got to hang mine
My name is Jonathan Spieler
I am the buck knife killer
You can find me dead on 8th and Main
Under the third white pillar
About the Creator
Nicole Sittarich
Future Marine wife // Dog mama // Disney, makeup, and book lover
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