slice
a pool of blood on the floor
slice
a silent cry, and nothing more
slit
wonder why he never tried this before?
slit
his soul corrupt, his body sore
chop
excitement fueling inside his core
chop
homicide? that's such a bore!
stab
serial killer's the way of gore!
stab
the life he once had he tore
clatter
of the knife onto the floor
splatter
of his blood, and nothing more
YOU ARE READING
Gypsy
Poetrya poetry collection "Gypsy souls aren't meant to stay in one place; they're meant to wander. I got tired, bored, and depressed in the place that I was at. Change was the only option. So I packed up my soul in a suitcase and left."
