It’s rather difficult to comprehend what’s going on in situations of mass chaos
There’s a man laying in a pool of his own blood, next to a young child with his arms detached, a box of knives, a pile of rags, an overturned safe.
How can one possibly make sense of it all with the constant buzzing of the fan…
Slaughter
Blood
Chaos
Calm
That’s how it happens
Lives so precious taken in an instant, from the conception of the murder carried through to this serene silence of the scene at hand
Calm
That’s where we are now,
the tranquil peace of the absence of life, no struggling, no pain
just vacant stares and the crimson red of the blood pooling around their bodies
There’s something beautiful about the silence  
something that draws you in, yet the eerie nature of it brings you a sense of dread
A sense of dread that I created
…drip
          …drip
                   …drip
I think to myself, it must be raining outside, but I know that can’t be true…
I look down to see my palms are raining blood

How can I ever explain it?
Not without a full disclosure
I will tell you every bit
Your kindness to which I demure

Soldiers fight their own private war
Mine to protect the Hill Tribes
Willing to suffer all the gore
All credit to them I ascribe

Upon arrival in Da Nang
I gathered my field gear and rifle
A mission with Colonel Vang
Preparation seemed but a trifle

My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies
Give a great gift to me, your sons
I will escort them through Hades
I'll teach them to murder with guns

Wet their tongues in cobra's blood
I have come to save you from doom
The coming communist red flood
Boys already made their own tomb

We shall fly the flags of the Hmong
We'll rally boys from the villes
We must slaughter the Minh and Cong
The Hmong will have their own Bastille

I will take a dragon to wife
Boys will nurture in her foul breath
They will worship their bloody knife
We'll dance the ritual of death

I’m the lost soul forest monster
Others have come before today
They are pathetic impostors
We will flow through the night to slay

Other boys born beneath the palm
They have come to steal your life's breath
It's them that we target to bomb
I'll walk among you as Macbeth

My Duncan is among your kin
Banquo will haunt me til I rot
I will be fixed with mortal sin
Unable to wash away the spot

I will hide my hands from Odin
A conundrum in which I'm caught
Future will be among the Jinn
My destiny from this foul plot

Your sons buried in sacred ground
They'll not be stained with my darkness
Peace for them will be so profound
How many thanks can I express

Those boys in valor's selfless crown
From gallantry, their future gone
Sins I keep and can't beat down
For many years, I must atone.

I, far removed from battles roar
Do fondly remember those boys
Their smiles and laughter before
Stand out among life's greatest joys

No more the fierce warrior am I
Just an old man with memories
I am needing to just say goodbye
And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases

This is my lament.  It is extracted from my third life.

We ain't got no use for you, Jewboy.
None whatsoever
Your wife is one of them gooky people
From the Philippines,
But she thinks more like we do.
So, she ain't got no use for you either.
We banned you from the KavaSutra
So, we could shut your kikeass mouth,
But you keep talking anyways.
I don't know how the hell we're gonna' make you shut up?
We might have to put you in a Concentration Camp.
We'll see what happens
When our man, Trump,
Gets into Office.

Jim Morris Jul 2016

In the bloodiest centuries
Lie every mans shattered memories
Dying men flooded fields with loneliness
When the odds were slim they were not hopeless
Smaller the shield, bigger the blade
When they charged the battlefield they weren't afraid
Slaughtering their enemies, mission to invade
The crimson sky slowly fades
Earth quaking force, Thunderous trumpets
Deep down those men were nothing but puppets
Fighting for one mans greed possessed by madness
Reigning supreme, in a ruthless mans dream

War is useless
gray rain May 2016

Who came up with the word slaughter?
did they think killing things was funny?

Eloi Apr 2016

Run away, child,
Don't let me in,
I'm a demon,
I'm a devil,
I'll teach you how to sin.

Run away, little son,
Don't look into my eyes,
They are black-blue, they are deadly,
And full of dangerous lies.

Run away, little daughter,
Before your mind I will slaughter,
My existence knows no love,
I was expelled from above.

You can never run away,
Your mind is my slave,
I will haunt you until you die,
Never to leave your side.

Run away, child.
While you're still alive.

My last poem was very focused on a time in my life where I had a lot of problems, this is also a poem about that time.
I went through some very traumatic experiences, and I believe that a lot of it was super natural.

Not I, can take
Words, they ache
Written on a plate of gold
A dark mystery, they unfold

Cursed I lay,
Death, I outweigh
Slaughter, I see
To death agree

Memories play by
Screams, they amplify
Gone I will be
To the god I plea

Written for my English free writing assignment.
Josiah Wilson Nov 2015

My veins thrum with
The thrill of death and blood
My eyes alight with life
As I stride through the mud

Dead men all around
Most felled by my hand
They gave their all to die
And still alive I stand

I am invincible
Too angry to die
The battle rage fills me
As I roar at the sky

My thirst is never sated
I always yearn for more
More killing, more blood
More bodies for my sword

Sheikh Muizz Sep 2015

Two silhouettes muttered through cigarette smoke next to the tall, black double doors at the head of the corridor
unfazed by the white rectangles flickering above us. The doors parted
next thing I knew, I was in
a black box of four tall black walls, and a clammy black floor
made of the same padded fabric as the entrance doors.
Riotous bass pummelled through the room like a tortured bull.
There were hundreds of people here; maybe more
but they were all lying docile, faceless and still
against each other.

They were all young. I picked up an inconsistent rhythm of chests rising and falling
like ripples ushered across the sea by a gentle breeze.
Yet it was the overwhelming sense of flesh here that
lit a snarling viciousness within me. How it excited me and how
I feared it.
I was a butcher, afraid of what he could do.

I saw someone I recognised – her brown hair was tied back, her eyelashes
twitched in her slumber. I stepped over and sat behind her. She pulled herself closer to me
and kissed my cheek. I buried my face in her neck and placed my palm on her bare stomach
took my index finger, and ran a circle around her navel.

I can’t remember what happened after that.  Images slip through like
water would in my cupped hands.
But I remember the raw beat, and the gentle ripple of chests
and how it reminded me of the sleeping new-borns in a maternal ward.

Akhil Bhadwal Jul 2015

With manic laughter
He kills and slaughters
Reason, he doesn't need
Bloodthirst, is all he feeds

Raging, through the streets
Killing, whomever he meets
Inhumane, are his deeds
Merciless bloodthirst, he feeds

Once again the moon is covered with shade of blood
Now is his period, the one named Jason Mud
Again, he's out to kill
Quenching eternal bloodthirst, yes he will


|AB|

This prose follows the deeds of a fictional serial killer named "Jason Mud".  Whenever, there is a full moon, he's out to kill and gets his dirty job done. Follows a a b b rhyme scheme.
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