The Buck Knife Killer

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