deepundergroundpoetry.com
List #3
[center]Serial Lover
He took a photograph from up close.
Blind folded her so not to see him.
Making a collage of her
on his wall,
the perfect fantasy victim.
He would like her dead.
He downs a bottle of Seaweed ,
She screams as he stubs out his cigarettes.
Her scorched and burning skin, she kept wailing,
as he tried to treat it with toothpaste.
He fed her a Canada Dry can,
that had spoiled and rusted for a month.
Even if she had ran,
she was still going to be hunted for fun.
He wants her dead.
Popping his gum, he looked through tinted windows.
Storm clouds are slowly rolling in,
lightning and thunder, special effects ready
for his private show to begin.
He gets excited with more of her
screams and whimpers,
Repeating and echoing 'Go get her Tiger!'
He laughs and jumps around in circles.
He needs her dead.
Her tears fail to stop,
as she feels and smells her own blood.
That impending doom ate at her mind
and even deeper in her gut.
Along with his anxious hysterics,
he cuts her blouse,
starting with the cute pink buttons.
The smell of death grips her spine,
whispering in her ear,
"How about we practice before the real run?"
She was much better off dead.[/center]
He took a photograph from up close.
Blind folded her so not to see him.
Making a collage of her
on his wall,
the perfect fantasy victim.
He would like her dead.
He downs a bottle of Seaweed ,
She screams as he stubs out his cigarettes.
Her scorched and burning skin, she kept wailing,
as he tried to treat it with toothpaste.
He fed her a Canada Dry can,
that had spoiled and rusted for a month.
Even if she had ran,
she was still going to be hunted for fun.
He wants her dead.
Popping his gum, he looked through tinted windows.
Storm clouds are slowly rolling in,
lightning and thunder, special effects ready
for his private show to begin.
He gets excited with more of her
screams and whimpers,
Repeating and echoing 'Go get her Tiger!'
He laughs and jumps around in circles.
He needs her dead.
Her tears fail to stop,
as she feels and smells her own blood.
That impending doom ate at her mind
and even deeper in her gut.
Along with his anxious hysterics,
he cuts her blouse,
starting with the cute pink buttons.
The smell of death grips her spine,
whispering in her ear,
"How about we practice before the real run?"
She was much better off dead.[/center]
Published 1st Feb 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 0
comments 1
reads 713
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
27th Mar 2015 8:41pm
S¡ck. In the best way.
