Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Chop...Chop...Chop...Chop...Chop... Laugh. Murdering is an art! It takes caution, skill, and smarts. It also takes a weapon. In the case of murdering, you can say... that technically a human murders every day, may not be of it's own kind, but... we **** other living things every single day. Do we see them? No, maybe, possibly, I don't know. Do you? I am... Jack the Ripper! I ****** prostitutes, women who defile their bodies by showing off their ******* and bellies... and innards...to lost men. I don't know why I **** this specific kind of pray... but I do...And I know its fun teasing the media. Maybe I should start murdering the men too... Sneak into the room while their...going about their business... ...Never mind...That's a nasty thought... Murderers care about that kind of thing too, you know? They do not cry. They don't have time to cry. They do not scream. They do not have time to scream. I slice their throat first, which means I win from the start. Then...Save for my third, I drag their innards around their bodies like...fuzzy neck boas. I take no souvenirs...It would cause a havoc... A havoc I prefer not to have... Chop... Chop... And laugh! Chop... Chop... And laugh! Chop... Chop... And laugh! © 2012 Melody
0
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Foul ****** 4: Chop...Chop...And Laugh...
Chop...Chop...Chop...Chop...Chop... Laugh. Murdering is an art! It takes caution, skill, and smarts. It also takes a weapon. In the case of murdering, you can say... that technically a human murders every day, may not be of it's own kind, but... we **** other living things every single day. Do we see them? No, maybe, possibly, I don't know. Do you? I am... Jack the Ripper! I ****** prostitutes, women who defile their bodies by showing off their ******* and bellies... and innards...to lost men. I don't know why I **** this specific kind of pray... but I do...And I know its fun teasing the media. Maybe I should start murdering the men too... Sneak into the room while their...going about their business... ...Never mind...That's a nasty thought... Murderers care about that kind of thing too, you know? They do not cry. They don't have time to cry. They do not scream. They do not have time to scream. I slice their throat first, which means I win from the start. Then...Save for my third, I drag their innards around their bodies like...fuzzy neck boas. I take no souvenirs...It would cause a havoc... A havoc I prefer not to have... Chop... Chop... And laugh! Chop... Chop... And laugh! Chop... Chop... And laugh! © 2012 Melody
melody
Written by
American
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem