I've currently been reading the book The Mind of the Murderer by Neustatter. It's about how mental illness can sometime, rarely, but can lead to ******. And people who do suffer from a particular mental illness can be at a loss at why they are in trouble. Since most of these acts are do you rage or paranoria. They don't see a right or wrong, but it happened. But I was watching a jail interview with BTK and was captivated with such a lack of emotion in his face, eyes and words. And how killing to him became a job, since he had to stalk, and plan everything out. Removing trace evidence. How OCD he had to be. And how for most serial killers it's a passion. They view themselves are artists. So that's how this poem came to be. Highly doubt anyone will read this, but I'm pretty proud of it. (written: Nov. 4, 2011)