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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Crime/Gangster · #1256469
A criminal and his thoughts.
It’s a feeling I can’t explain.
My brain is screaming, I’m going insane.
I see the knife on the bottom shelf;
Should I scream in pain or cut myself.

It reflects moonlight and it seems so near.
I walk right toward it, it reflects my sneer.
I squeeze the hilt against my thumb;
It feels so cold as my hand goes numb.

I open my door and walk into the street,
A low cold mist hangs at my feet.
I look in the distance and see the house,
With an evil man and his wicked spouse.

I walk quite slow, my pulse still low.
I’m halfway there, then I see the glow.
Their television is on, and their window ajar.
I slide it open and enter their bar.

Mr. Stantz was drunk, and asleep on the couch,
His breathing quickened so I began to crouch.
I readied the blade and made a loud sound,
He fell over startled and hit the ground.

I kneeled right beside him and gently slit his throat;
The blood trickled down into his velvet coat.
I then jabbed the blade into the top of his head,
And left his remains inside his tool shed.

I then killed his wife and returned home before dawn.
I was arrested the next morning, I’d left blood on the lawn.
I’m mildly happy in my warm and tiny shell,
It will only take time before I break from this cell.

© Copyright 2007 Brandon M. (pandemoniumnow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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