~
I hold still,

let him finish stabbing me

                                                 — I count six,

let him believe me dead,

he moves on to Cecelia.

--

It does not go as well for her

as she continues to writhe and scream

and carry on,

not well at all
                                             
               ­                              — I count eight,

                                                                nine,

                                                                ten...
~

I had just came
out of an AA meeting.
I looked to the
west, and spied a
mother cat with
a litter of kittens.
Little ***** of fluff,
running and jumping in
the tall grass,
unaware of the
danger that lurked.
A large black and white
Tomcat eased his way
up on one of
the kittens.
The tiny one arched its
back and hissed,
trying to be brave.

Male cats **** the
kittens so that
the female will go into
heat sooner,
and then he can
mate again.
He's a born killer,
living to ****.

As I walked towards him,
I thought to
myself, why can't cats
be like penguins?
The father helps raise the
little ones, and they
mate for life.
Why can't nature
have morals?
He was nose to nose
with the baby, when I said,
"Go on, get out of here."
He walked slowly, and then
turned and tried to come
back toward the kitten.
I put my hand on
his side and pushed him.
I stomped my feet and he
sulked away for
the time being.
He'll be back.

It ****** me off
and made me sad.
I thought of Caligula and
Roman empires,
and felines of all breeds.
The *** drive,
human and animal,
has its brutal side.

I quietened the couple next door,
so you could sleep.
I swallowed the crackling fire,
so you could sleep.
I made the bed and
fluffed the pillows,
so you could sleep –
after burying the bodies
of the dogs who no longer yap
or the children who
no longer scream.
I absorbed the night-time freeze
and the searing warmth
so you could sleep.
And you kept sleeping.

overthinking is like
killing yourself
with your own hands
this way you don't need
to hire a killer for yourself to die

The cries, the screams
Ripping out the hearts
Of innocent souls
Tearing them to pieces
The chilling smile,
The evil laugh
The periodic lies  
Repetion
Repetion
Killing anything in his path
Making any joyful thing die
Painting roses with the blood of his victims
Drawing them in with a sinister act
Acting as if you care
But destroying them
Repetition
Repetition
No sense of feeling
No appeal for emotions
Throwing around the
"I love you"s
Eroding Trust
Creeping into minds
and Hurting Everyone
Regardless
Of who they are
And if the victim escapes....
Well....
They'd wish they were dead.
The actions of
my serial killer .

i am destruction in its own form.

i am a gas leak
you have never encountered before.

i don't tick like the bomb you're used to.

i have dangerous hands,
they've killed thousands of me.

i am a serial killer of self.

You can be anything you want to be; a clown, a lover, a serial killer, a tarot card reader, a musician who likes to eat pickles. You can be a prized fighter who falls in love with love itself. When you read you can be anything, and I do mean anything. But when you write.....you can see what's happening in front of you, you can be the night sky, in the twinkling eye of the child when she is being read your bedtime story. Put yourself in my place, when I am writing I close my eyes and the story that wants to come out is vividly clear in front of me. It's amazing what words can do when the right ones are put together: time stood still when you looked at me. I felt what you didn't say, I felt what you were gonna say. You smell so good, I can't wait for you to.....You know....It's all good, I know you feel it too, if this is just my imagination, I need to stop drinking so much coffee, the caffeine is starting to get to me.

There’s a killer in us all

It doesn’t render flesh and bone

It goes for something much deeper

It attacks the heart and soul

It confuses and damages the mind

It feasts on insecurities and doubts

It haunts the hallow corridors of the soul

It strikes out at where it hurts the most

It doesn’t stop until it draws blood

There’s a killer in us all

And its name is anger

© Seductive Poetry