Contemplations of a serial killer

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Just little thoughts coming out of my head. Not truth, just vivid imagination and the occasional sense of humor. I write what comes forth out of the mind, the musings that I enjoy so much. And now, it is my hope, that you enjoy this as well.

Contemplations of a serial killer

There they lay
All in a pile
Stacked up on top
Soaked in blood
Disgusting and blue
Yet delightfully tasteful

Oh, how delectable
Rich and beautiful
Overwhelming, the things
Of this
Or any other world
Loving slaughter

You'll know it
The way it is
That's just how things
Happen
Sick, twisted place of earth
Good thing I'm leaving

Freaks
They were called freaks
Not one of us
Just as dark as us
Yet not accepted
Lapping up the drops as they fell

Laughing
She was laughing
Maniacally, you could say
I'd like to have called her crazy
But, then again
Aren't we all?

Flips and dives
The bodies crowd around
They'll lay to waste
This desolate ground
Never Ending 
Plight of the death





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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

chemicalcuke’s Poems (44)

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Contemplation
s of a serial killer
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