Thursday, 15 September 2011

The Murderer Within

Hands that clutch your head,
Your eyes are wide with fear.
Voices of people who are dead
Haunting your mind with leers.

You run through the darkness
Of your very mind, your soul
A blood moon that shines on inkiness
Penetrating the smoke that lurks in bowls

Slowly you gas your victims to death.
Then chop them up and throw them away
Bones and smiles are all that's left
Clothing's ends begin to fray

Your mind is full of all these things
Blood and gore, Bones and bullets
Towards darkness your conscience flings
Saliva rolls down in heavy rivulets

Smiling down on your last body
Handcuffs slap onto your wrist
No matter how much they stare at coldly
No denying the knife-holding fist.

Locked up, sitting in a straight jacket,
Smiling the smiles of a dozen dead
Shadows pluck at the old locket
The dead mother, the murderer instead.

2 comments:

  1. ~raises eyebrows~
    Wow... that was creepy.... and really just.... ~shiver~
    Brilliant poem!

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  2. Reminds me of Holocaust. In a twisted way I love this poem... it so breathtaking, shocking and tragic. Somehow I love this: "A blood moon that shines on inkiness" - it truly caught my eye.

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