re the real deal, a real writer, a real killer,
Jeremy Gratton

I’m not like you. I can’t turn anything into a poem,
then again, maybe I can,
but I’m not sure that it would end up
being any good at all.

Still, I write and write and write,
tall tales, bunny rails, fables and sad fairies,
and lest not forget the antichrist.

Mother Mary and her damned hand grenades,
they should kill themselves for altering your words.
Any poet, even a pretend one,
knows that you just don’t do that shit.

But hey, we still have plenty of words from you,
the bearer of truth.

You tamed tarantulas, and sat in cafes in Europe,
like a demonic ruler, and you did it to the end,
because you were the real deal, a real writer, a real killer,
a cannibal of the written word, you sprayed the mind
with linguistic machine guns.

A king, a martyr, but you would never wear that badge,
it wouldn’t feel right to you, it would disgrace your honor.

And ten thousand poets still cannot compare to you,
one closing line of yours is like a symphony of poems,
a barricade, an earthquake, shake, drink, shake, drink,
and an opening line,
always worth more than the novice might think.

You awe me, make me wish I had what you had,
but then again, not really,
it’s bad enough having what I have.

Also @ http://jeremygratton.com/2014/05/19/killer/
#poem   #poetry   #poet   #killer   #awe  
In a trance, slashing throats. I'm in a killer mood someone's going to pay for this. A
Clindballe

In a trance, slashing throats. I'm in a killer mood someone's going to pay for this. All this betray and backstabbing. Pleasure by seeing other people suffering. Stressed out, messed up, fucked up. Killing every living thing as I walk by. Tonight you're all going to pay. Tonight is the end. Suffer!

Written: May 22. -2014

One second she breathes,
and the next second she stops.
Humans call it death.

For a related piece please visit:
EMI☜ʕ♥ᴥಠʔ☞♡ and ♥☜ʕಠᴥ♥ʔ☞ I
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/775964/emi-and-i/

Serial Killer
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serial_Killer
.
#haiku   #death   #lust   #breath   #murder   #killer   #serial   #psychopath   #beryldov   #wikipedia  
Its a killer.
Mechanical Adolescents

Its a killer.
Like anger to a bee.
Like Hope in the eyes of a decided fate.
Like Music to my ears, we fade slowly together. Our feet move in step time sync.
Its a beauty; like the swan.
A flap of the wings in the water light.
A twist of the neck; a break of your arm.
It's a killer, with the name of Love.

I laid a paragraph put like a poem...is it poetry now? there are no enjambments or rhyming patterns, but does that matter
#love   #anger   #tags   #hope   #music   #swan   #fate   #killer   #bee   #assholes  
He wasn't a true serial-killer;
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

He wasn't a true serial-killer;
more of a Frosted Flake.

ʕⓧᴥಠʔ
             (”)-(”)=ε/̵͇̿̿/̿ ̿ ̿ ̿  ̿ ̿ ̿
(””)_(””)

Serial-killer
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/serial_killer
.

slip my hands around your throat
slip my blade though your vein,
Little monster.
Throw the first punch
you're already dead
why not die twice?
Theres already blood on my hands.

Guilty pleasures of the deviant mind
scratches down the spine,
Bite marks along your side,
Love bites across your collar bones.
my little monster,
Make a sound
leave your moans down the hallway.

Latex gloves against the skin,
Making his incision
victims lie screaming
eyes wide open
he looks down
for he found his little monster,
Within.

brooke
brooke
Jan 24, 2013

so much depends
upon

the simple school
grade

dashed with red
marks

beside my limp
fingers

sometimes college smothers me.

(c) Brooke Otto
a killer in the making.
Melissa Shu Fen
Melissa Shu Fen
Jul 19, 2013

she held the gun in her hand,
     shaking,
a killer in the making.

This poem is about a girl who is sexually abused by her father. They got to a point where she was going to shoot him to make him stop, but she couldn't bring herself to do it (shaking). Well, she did it eventually.

This is my first poem - thus the length. Still an amateur. :)
That bullet made you a killer.
Selena Irulan
Selena Irulan
Oct 8, 2013

Imagine yourself holding a gun,
Pointed to a love one.

Not on a family but a friend,
Someone you knew way back when.

Now Imagine you pulled the trigger,
That bullet made you a killer.

 
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