Specimens of long pig struggle from their mound
Sky-splitting screams starkly resound
My veins circulate a steady stream of spite
For their mewling humbug has turned quite trite

It wasn’t too pleasant when the taunts started to singe
When **** forced me into a balancing act across society’s fringe

One by one, I separate my courses from the flock
Store their tender bits inside of Ma’s favored crock
I then engage in a vigorous process of toil
Lower frantic faces into water made to boil
Skin hastily detaches, tongues flop lopsided
Scalded fists clench and eyes bulge cross-sighted

I scurry on webs of scorn
Maim my prey with marks of malice
Eat torn hearts with mine retaining its layer of callous
These lesser swine are absorbed into my design
Their bodies gorged on with generous gouts of fine wine
“Oh, I do hope not to get too drunk”
-I think while chewing on an especially splendid chunk

You’re struck by thoughts that zip like raging electricity
Charged wholesomely by the eye snatching power of curiousity
There’s that hefty knapsack of guilt constricting your back
A tear stained jacket olive green and not so fresh off the rack
Typical attire adorned by an untamed hellcat hellbent on the attack

You’re always eager for flimsy fellows with paper mache names
Too bad they catapult you back into prewritten tales of ill-ridden fame
You seem to entice the astral glare of scorching stars
To unwittingly interrupt Nature’s frolicking soundtrack at all the key bars

You’re Alice’s protégé adeptly meeting learning goals
Far surpassing her mentor at the art of slipping reality and falling down rabbit holes
A spirit shedding her blouse of light and taking a dip in the lake of souls
Writing new mythologies amidst the morbid company of witches and trolls

You’re burned letters and missed calls on the phone
A slowly sinking stone
Filled with grey from every ***** to bone
Wilting words spoken monotone

I’m staring down eternity in a hearse, waiting for the traffic of demons to disperse

I’m lounging on the constellation of a large spoon

Curled up, catching some Z’s by the Moon

They sling “psychopath” as an insult
Bitter chuckles are the result

I’m a countenance of compunction

Feeling my bruised soul twang with pain at every immoral junction

I’m stuck in a reality that calls me the menace

Like Rikki Tikki in cobra infested jungles

I play the Gothic tune of death in my mind

I sever the glue of innocence and ties that bind

They chant my name with nursed hate
They throw blows in a ferocious spate

All I need to escape is an utterance of confession

It’s the sole solution to dig out of such deep a depression

Yet, I contort out of the grip of these vicious cohorts

For a question pierces my psyche like bullets in the brain

Why should I denounce myself as a monster to condemn
**When they fail to see the ones growing inside of them?

Who’s there waiting when wickedness grips you by the nose?
It is I, a fluid shadow, the King of Crows
I sniff the air for errors to rectify
Meet them head on with casual discernment and a nebulous sigh
My pitch-black wings swing to all the towering views
They allow me to see the innocent spread too far and too few
You vermin, your hearts are tattered and filthy
Time, once again, to deck the halls with bowels of the guilty
An inky body is smeared with various coats made from innards
I relish the chances to wear these pulpy suits of sinners
It is my name, Corvus, that prompts sickly trembling
In my image, death is the sole figure resembling
With tinges of rote, I descended to the city not-so-sublime
Flitted past sights of iniquity and people of grime
In an alley, I crushed your skull
Chalked up the mesmerizing mess as a sloppy miracle

I am quite the vivacious, little serial killer
A mentally unaligned, malign blood spiller
I am a stringent supporter of firearm regulation
Explaining a proclivity for machete fueled decapitation
I’ll grant you a deathly diagnosis
Feed off your breath in twisted symbiosis
I’ll calculate the perfect blade length to flay
Find the best ways for you to squirm in honor of payback day
It’s very sharp of you to worry
For I certainly don’t **** in a hurry
Oh darlings, do the math
Two bodies and a laugh equal one psychopath