A cute poem for a cutie pie!

I want to write a poem for my cutie pie!

Roses are red, violets are blue

If you went missing, I'd be guilty

I must make a confession. On 14th January, 2013, I thought and acted upon an urge on multiple female victims. All of which have resulted in death. Here is my dearest story. I, at the time, held a secret affair with my then dear friend's sister. She was a graceful young maiden. Even after so many years, I cannot believe I was able to court a girl of only thirteen years in age. We possessed a pure, innocent love. Though we did engage in carnal acts, we reserved it only for the most special occasions. Our first intimate moment together was at her parent's house in the upstairs shower room. Her parents were home but she wanted to have all of me at that moment, as she believed she was finally prepared to embrace me in full. That night I made a women out of her at the age of fourteen and a quarter. As our love for each other grew, so did her age. My once pure love for her had turned into a facade. At the time, I didn't want to admit I had taken away her innocence. She always wanted me to hold her close, to trade tongue, at every moment asking me to repeat the words 'I love you'. Her once innocent youthful curiosity turned into a primal urges of human sin. By the time she was nearly due for her sixteenth birthday, I had made a decision I shall never not regret. On the day before her sixteenth birthday, I took her to all her favourite places. We walked, we ate, we played. As the evening welcomed itself in the sky above us, I was prepared for what had to happen. On the car ride home from our daytime celebration, I made a turn towards an unfamiliar road instead of her house. I remember I glanced at her, as I wondered what her expression would be. She had a confessed look on her face, a look of knowing yet not knowing. She never questioned me where we were going or asked about taking her home. She simply had accepted I would be taking her. I pulled in to a motel with a no questions policy I had searched for online prior. I asked the bitter owner for a key to the most expensive room they offered. I recall he took a single glance at my beloved and a deep sigh followed. He handed me the key and shut the window. I suppose it was not uncommon to see young lovers rent a room at odd hours of the night. As we walk towards our room, I made sure to hold her tightly around my waist, to make certain she felt secure and safe, to let her know everything would be alright. In truth, I had avoided doing anything beyond an occasional kiss for two months to prepare for this moment. We showered away the exhaust from that day's adventure. As I combed my frisky hair, she walked out of her shower, her towel wrapped tightly around her body. The sight reminded me of our first moment together. The thought of her once youthful figure was enough to spark that sensation I since had lost. I got up and silently approached her. Her head sheepishly buried, I lightly lifted her chin up. Our eyes meet, I see a glimmer in her eyes, a certain look that says I want you. I peck her still soft lips, then her neck, and then her body. We slowly make our way towards the large mattress, I pounce on her. That night it was as if two animals in heat. That night I ravished her like a dog. She even commented something in between our lust, something along the words of "you're different tonight." I bared no mind, as she was only an object of pleasure to me then, her whimpers only being fuel for the spite I carried. Our session had ended, she was dead asleep. Before I had a minute of rest, I must always prepare for the ritual. Tools of art eagerly awaited it's purpose. Plastic wrapping in wait to tightly embrace secrets. Keys which would lead the way to a new beginning. All was right. I could never decide which life I enjoyed most, the deception, the love, or the ritual. The clock is ticking. As I loom over her limp body, I can't deny she held the record for cutest resting face. With a single swift motion, her neck opens a red sparkling spring. It reminded me of the countless times she had orgasmed, only this time, it was my pleasure. My handy handsaw told me her tender flesh and thins bones would be light work. As I worked, a lake collected below. I was thankful for my friend, plastic wrap, helped me out. I wipe blood like sweat from my mask covered face. Good thing I wore protection. I admire my work for a few moments. Elegant pieces lay before me. I stare at the her pelvis, pondering, should I use it? I oppose the impulse; I'm not an animal. I envelop each part in a plastic wrap tightly as I had enveloped her in my arms many times before. Two walk in. One walks out, the other carried in a single hand. The key holds my future. Tonight was the night, and was going to happen over and over again. I do not share my exact method of disposal, as I am a free man, and wish to continue as one. Simply know each part has a home of their own. This is my confession to the murder of Cathrine Hansen, taken away from this world at 04:33 on 14th January, 2013 completing sixteen years of age. She was my third victim of eight total.