Serial Raspberry Eater

I’m a serial raspberry eater. I’ll admit it.

I plan my attacks with precision and care:

when no one is around, I approach the refrigerator with stealth,

scan the kitchen for witnesses,

and then close in on my victims.

And like any good serial killer, sometimes I get carried away.

I take too much for the killing.

My fingers drip with dark juice and give me away.

But I can cover up a crime scene like a veteran serial killer:

I slyly arrange each remaining raspberry,

spared from my violent urges,

putting them back into place and

without a guilty cringe in my step,

I walk away.