Short Serial Killers Poems

Serial killers: the last words of a cliff hanger...

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A missionary and a serial killer are not that way born.
Both evolved by the environment each experienced and individually came from....

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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...

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Wondering why high speed 
intrigues me
Like serial killers and horror 
movies
Kind and submissive person
Pleased others
But my world isn't here
It's out there
Or closed inside me
Private forever...

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Serial killers are the most difficult to apprehend,
because they have no connection to their victims.
Most serial killer homicides,
remain unsolved regardless of how hard law enforcement tries, 
because there is no connection with the killer and the ones who died....

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Is Hotel Cecil cursed?
A portal to hell?
How many have died there?
Accidentally or by murder and suicide?
It is the most notoriously haunted hotel in America.
Associated with macabre incidents, serial killers.
Downtown Los Angeles is host to these seven hundred rooms.
Shall I book you a room? There is always a vacancy.
Diabolical laughter....

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This is power in words that speak the truth 
begging to the bone of its essence cold justice 
a brain washed mass of society have followed the pied piper 
when certain rights have been removed 
time is running out for real democracy 
to be in any shade effective 
corruption is the source of chaos 
when we allow serial killers to kill our kinsmen...

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Haiku-Tanka-Haiku
5,7,5 -- 5,7,5,7,7 -- 5,7,5

Evil brews, no rules,
looming witches ride their brooms,
demon eyed ghouls drool.

Potions have been brewed,
voodoo dolls alter my mood.
Serial killers,
dead become walking dead,
I feel like I'm in "Thriller"

Vampires, Ware-wolves,
Kruger and Micheal Meyers,
stalking to retire..

Jared Pickett
9/8/2010
Asavvy1...

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Poison was always the silent killer. 
Kings and emperors fell prey to it easily.
The favorite poisoner of the Roman Emperor Nero, 
this woman ended many lives with her deadly poisons.
FUKIING BIITCH,this woman’s story is a true deadly drama. 
Widely considered as one of the earliest documented serial killers, 
She was certainly a deadly dame.
Note.chemical drink silent killer......

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the cuckoo's not for you
I shouted my anger to the world
who painted borders
however,do not recognize the rule of life

you not crows
my words to the cruel world
there are serial killers 
so endless battles
who might be at peace
hearts of baies birds vulnerable

vultures with stops rotating
there are carrions everywhere
to live here very difficult
yes,now empty
there was a time people...

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Triple Haiku
5,7,5 -- 5,7,5 -- 5,7,5

Evil brews, no rules,
looming witches ride their brooms,
demon eyed ghouls drool.

Potions have been brewed,
voodoo dolls alter my mood.
Serial killers.

Vampires, Ware-wolves,
Kruger and Micheal Meyers,
stalking to retire..

***Note*** This is an edit of my original Random Thoughts *49* Haiku--Tanka--Haiku... 

 
Jared Pickett
Asavvy1
9/8/2010...

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it sounded like a car door slamming shut
All three dogs begin the howling yowling bark
Then they run to mama
I am mama
I look out the window
to make sure a delivery man has made his escape
no one is out there
Open the door and they race through it
as if they are on the scent of six serial killers
it takes us a while to get inside
Every dog finds a place and flops.
Bam!
Another car door.
The chase begins anew...

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I have a confession to make 
I have a teeny, weeny
slightly crazy 
morbid fascination with serial killers 
There I said it 
Judge me all you want 
But that won't stop me from 
Fangirling over charles manson 
Watching rerun upon rerun of 
hannibal 
When I tell my mum I'm finishing my homework 
At 3 o'clock at night 


But not to worry 
Cause on second thought 
I happen to think there just maybe a 
teeny, weeny 
slightly crazy inkling of truth 
to that statement...

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As the darkness fills the sky and the moon 
so red like a freshly cut vaine lights its way.
 The air with a cool chill that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as if you've just opened the doors to the county morgue on a cool November morning.
 But a last, it's not the darkness of the sky or the blood from the moon.
 It's your eyes growing dimmer and your blood
spilling to the floor as your life fades away
by my hands.
 That's darkness, darkness of a serial killers soul....

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