Beautiful Crimson

Ok, I'm not sure if this is even a poem! but please tell me what you think!

I smiled, sickly as the blood trickled down her neck.
Beautiful crimson.
Her skin had never been so white before,
probably because she was dead.
She was the most beautiful person I had ever killed,
But I didn't feel guilty.
I never did.
I just felt dead inside.

My ability to feel had left me long ago,
when my family died
because of her
the beautiful bitch I had just killed.
I was sure I'd feel better after she was dead
But ....
I just felt worse.
More empty;
even though I was empty to begin with.

What now?, I thought.
I could run,
to where?
I could turn myself in,
but why?

I stared down at the sharp blade I held,
encrusted with diamonds,
the real thing.
What a wonderful way to die, I thought.
I lay her body down on the floor,
blood still rapidly gushing from her neck.

I sat on the bed where she once lay and stared at my shaking hands.
It's really over.
I didn't have the guts to kill myself,
so I waited for someone to come kill me,
her husband should be awake soon.
I hope.