James Mclain Poet Rhyme

Living Next Door To Theodore Bundy, American Serial Killer

A child once watched the monster call.
Where love was earned by fear’s recall.
The cradle rocked on trembling ground,
No laughter lived, no comfort found.

The hand that struck became the law,
The bruise a lesson carved in awe.
Toys lay broken, faces still,
A heart rehearsed its need to kill.

Empathy, a heart gone cold,
Stories sold but never told.
Mirrors showed a stranger’s face,
The smile a counterfeit of grace.

He learned that silence hides the crime,
That pain repeats itself through time.
Small cruelties grew to practiced art,
The hunter formed in youth became.

Fantasies stitched from mother’s cries,
Power blooming where love went to die.
The first mistake became a vow,
The mask was perfect, polished now.

He walked among us, calm and clear,
A whisper soft, but edged with fear.
He studied how the innocent trust,
And turned their kindness into death.

Each act a mirror of his long dark past,
Each life a way to make it last.
The world his stage, the dead his proof,
Beneath the calm, a shattered roof.

They called him evil, monster, myth—
But born from pain, he lived with this:
The child he was still calls his name,
Through bars, through time, through endless shame.
For every killer ever made—
  a broken child was first betrayed.

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