She's killing first, worries later

I could have been that girl,
Graciously holding her own.
A smile would have been semblance of my personality.
My badge of honor shinning through.
I would move with such serenity and eloquence.
I would reflect grace and innocence.

But I’m not,
I’m not that girl.
Nor would I ever be that girl.
I’m just the lost, rejected, less desired image of that girl
I’m the bitter after taste, of what at first seems harmless.
I’m the girl, who uses her smiles for wrong,
Pulling in her prey with so much anticipation,

Then disposing of their broken shambled body.
Only regretting my decision to kill after wards.
Truly I do bear genuine despise and guilt for what I do,
For every kill,
I never wash the blood off my hands.
My personal reminder, to not do it again.
A symbol, or scar of the danger that I am.

Though the message never fully transcends and
Without out a doubt,
I do... kill again.