My day-to-day life is pretty routine.
With the rest of the world, I blend in.
There’s a side of me that no one has seen.
It’s quite a story… where do I begin?
I know that it may be hard to believe,
But it began when I was very young.
From the start, it was easy to deceive.
I was a little hyper and high-strung.
I may have gotten away with a lot
Because I was the youngest of them all.
But to the bullies, I gave what I got.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
I know that it’s not much of an excuse,
But my siblings would always pick on me.
So, I learned psychological abuse
And tormented all of my family.
I would steal many of my siblings’ toys,
Knowing I probably wouldn’t get blamed.
The stuffed ones, I would completely destroy,
And I never felt the least bit ashamed.
As I got older, it did become hard
To hide what I’d ultimately become.
I buried everything in the back yard.
If they were ever found, I’d just play dumb.
But, no one ever discovered the truth.
I got away with it all of these years.
From just a little puppy in my youth
To a full-grown dog that nobody fears.
they wheeled me in like a busted fridge
metal bolts, the stink of bleach
my hands were calm for once—
you'd think I'd scream,
but I'd already done all my screaming.
a priest mumbled junk at me—
I asked for a cigarette,
he gave me god instead.
the guards were kids
shaking like leaves
they strapped me tight
like I was gonna run.
I looked at the bulb overhead—
thought of the girl in Idaho,
how she laughed
before I broke her neck.
I almost cried.
almost.
they stuffed cotton in my mouth,
clamped that steel cap down
like I was a bad battery.
somebody puked.
someone else prayed.
me? I grinned.
the juice hit—
a million volts of penance.
my spine tried to climb out,
my teeth danced,
my bowels gave up.
and still
it didn’t feel like enough.
not even close.
they don’t walk like the rest of us—
there’s a rhythm, yes, but it’s off-beat,
like jazz played in a padded cell.
it starts early—when the dog barked too loud
and nobody hugged them after.
the world lit its fuse,
and turned the other way.
they grow quiet in the corners of rooms,
watching how the meat falls off the bone,
how people talk and never mean it.
they learn that silence
can be louder than a scream,
that control is a scalpel—
and god never showed up,
to stop one.
trophies?
souvenirs from where the soul cracked.
a button, a tooth, a braid of hair—
proof that something existed
and bowed before them.
the rest of us save postcards.
they save reminders
that they were finally seen.
that someone, for one goddamned second,
was real.
A bedroom door that never locked,
Footsteps heavy like thunderclocks,
Mother's wine glass, cracked and red,
Words that bruised more than fists ever did.
A closet full of whispered screams,
Apologies lost in fevered dreams,
Father's belt, a sermon preached,
Love, a language never reached.
A dog buried in silence deep,
Secrets traded instead of sleep,
Schoolyard eyes like hunting knives,
Laughter echoing butchered lives.
The smell of ash, of plastic burned,
Lessons no one else had learned,
The joy of breaking dolls in two,
Just to feel a shadow move.
Windows rattled by unseen guilt,
Churches built where lies were spilt,
A hand too firm, a voice too loud,
Praise withheld like poisoned shrouds.
The grin he wore was not his own,
But stitched from pain he’d never shown,
And in the attic of his skull,
He catalogued what makes life dull.
Not born of hell, nor born insane,
But carved by years of steady pain—
And now the world must guess his name.
There's always a whisper of madness,
playing in my brain as I struggle to get
loose from it's refrain and the constant
pounding me to comply makes me feel
quite insane.
Disaster brewing behind blue eyes
bits of chaos that won't be denied.
They tell me the choice is completely
mine but they don't see or feel how
I'm bound up inside.
Touch the people and watch them fall
knowing the horror to come, the pull
to cause pain, is the worse of all. I'm
the bad man says the song, but they
don't really know bad, no, not all.
©SamHarty
The great and never ending
Always pretending
To be that big f@@k of a presence
His essence too shallow
His steps too big
There's no rhythm
Just sweat
And odor
The mindless excursion
From thoughts of twisted perversion
The path is always crooked
The night is always deep
Dark and slippery
His stomach empty
He lurks…
Waiting
Broken jagged teeth
Ripped flesh and bone
Traces of life
Gone
Gone
Gone
A figure haunting, darkness is revealed.
The serial killer roams the silent night,
In search of prey, a deadly, chilling sight.
A mask of normalcy, a facade so clever,
Camouflaging evil, deceiving forever.
A predator lurking, devoid of remorse,
Leaving behind a trail, a ghastly discourse.
Their eyes, a void, devoid of empathy,
No mercy, no conscience, a grim symphony.
They prey upon innocence, their hearts in ice,
A dance of terror, their deadly dice.
Each victim chosen, their life's flame snuffed,
A macabre dance, a tragedy so tough.
The echoes of their deeds, a haunting dirge,
Leaving behind shattered lives, a mournful surge.
But in the shadows, heroes rise with might,
To bring justice forth, to end the endless night.
They chase the killer, determined and strong,
Seeking justice, correcting every wrong.
The tale of the serial killer's reign,
A dark reminder of humanity's strain.
May light prevail, and darkness be undone,
So peace may reign, a victory hard-won.
1.He was a Scottish-Canadian medical doctor
and serial killer who poisoned his victims.
2.He murdered up to ten people in three countries.
3.He is targeting mostly lower-class women,
prostitutes and pregnant women seeking abortions.
4.He was convicted and sentenced to death,and was
hanged on 15 November 1892.
Note.Prostitutes are also women and women are not
aliens,they are our mothers sisters and daughters.
The man who starts a war is playing with fire
He is no better than a killer for hire
His only purpose is to destroy anyone who gets in his way
By Murdering more and more people with each passing day
A massacre to acquire a filthy desire
His plan was diabolical
Obsessed with the details
He had constructed it for years
When he acted upon the impulses
the effect was short-lived
He needed another fix
and another and another and another
He lost count of his victims
More concerned about honing his plan
for the next one
Silently, the serial killer
crept in, keeping to the side,
undetectable. Hanging out
day after day, watching,
learning the habits,
figuring the timing to be just
right. Too late, others would
come to save her, too late they
would see the pattern that
was there all along, hiding.
Silently, the serial killer
made a move, over bone
and marrow, flesh and
fat, he kept at it, until
she could not fight any more.
Silently, violently, the
serial killer took his victim
to her death. She was
mourned by those she knew
and families of the most
prolific serial killer
of all time – Cancer.
created 11 Jan 2019
no not serial killers that only kill arsonists
but serial killers who kill with fire
do you think they would
want buried
or
Take your time
see what i cremated
.....might have been the Did not see the other identical twin
it..............................the other one.
no love would have this heart
Always thought i would make a good
wait good is that right word anyway
good serial killer
you know
unusual m.o.
not the skin boiling in a pan one
or the skin wearers
Have a point to the murders
you know somehow part of the bigger
Picture my darkest thought
Just stop and think about it
what to do when the pain is so
Number and number
pick an number between three
Reality slit my throat
on my blood it chokes
skeptic of my septic
Nature burns and drops
Nations are forgot
The end is nigh
wonder if God gets a serial killer
Hi sorry sometimes i wander
So serial killer name Freddys been done
Jason somewhat over i don;t think he knows it
Bundy, Dhalmer, The green lantern
Jack even his name has softened
on ripping satin
I'd go with a classic
Like Prince
I quite like Shadows touch
Would would yours be?
If I were a serial killer
I would not use a knife;
because I have always been afraid of them
And you would have to get your face
and your hands too close to their face
and chest.
If I were a serial killer
I would not use a gun;
because I do not like them.
They make terrible holes,
and lots of noise.
Also, some of them kick back
and hurt your shoulder.
If I were a serial killer
I could not strangle anyone
because I am an asthmatic
and it seems incredibly cruel.
If I were a serial killer
I could not hang anyone
because I do not want to
have to get up there and put the rope up.
If I were a serial killer
I would have to run over people with my
car. Wait! Then it might get blood and flesh on it.
Scratch that!
If I were a serial killer,
I would give people an overdose of sleeping pills.
So many that they would fall into a deep sleep
and not even realize they were dead for
a long time.
If I were a serial killer.
The repair man went to fix the television at the old woman's house. It took him thirty minutes of messing and cursing to do it. With a grin and press of the remote, he said, 'Sorted.'
The old woman grinned and offered the repair man a cup of tea. He gladly accepted. They chatted and made small talk. Nothing out of the ordinary. When she took the cups to the kitchen, she returned with an axe.
With a wicked grin she chopped his head off! Then kissed his lips and spiked it on her fence post, ISIS/Daesh style. The old was a muzza terrorist sympathiser. And a cannibal to boot!
She warmed up her oven to cook the repair man. Eating the evidence. If anyone asked questions, they'd be next! Chop, slice, eat!
Being Normal Is Boring - Broken Aeroplanes, Screwed People, Alternative Writing,:)
Jimmy Boom Semtex
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