Poems

The Writer And The Serial Killer

Long ago there was a famous writer

He was famous for his way of expressing simple things through writing

Everyone admired him.

As he got older his health became unstable

Though he continued writing, it was not the same.

He used to write so beautiful about everything

Now, he wrote of things that nobody could ever imagine he would.

His mind now aware of the bad things that were happening in the world

His heart bleeding on the paper, because he could not see the dreadful things that humans were doing back then.

Now, the poor man could see the dark side of the world very clearly, though he never intended to.

He hoped to change the world by showing the good side of it,

But if he stopped thinking about the wicked parts of this hurtful era, then he began lying to himself.

It was still there. And it will be forever.

He died inside killed by the fake illusions he made by himself.

And like this the world and the people fool the innocents, slowly killing them, over time.

So sour and bitter.