I, with the blank stare of strangers as comfort,
The cold embrace of beasts as my shelter,
I, with the placidly blank feature of white chalk,
The sterile, empty room of my expressions,
I, with the eyes of ice,
The endless, emptiness of eternal darkness,
With not but a mind of metal, blood and fire,
Behind these empty eyes,
I with the clockwork mind of mechanical titans,
So that I may continue after death to dream of the terrible things that life has given me,
I, with the steel grip,
Lest my knives slip, and tear the flesh of my meal,
I, with the steady hands of a master butcher,
So that each worthless life is taken by my control,
I, with the non-stop hunger for fresh blood,
The endless desire for young human meat,
I, with the effortless, merciless whim of a hunter,
Happily stalking, killing slicing, and preparing my quarry,
I with the iron will of a mortician,
Cautiously taking care that the leftovers be disposed of well,
I, the face of a psychopath,
Ready to blend in with the populace,
Hidden in plain sight,
Ready to kill again,
Unnoticed,
Silent,
And swift,
We are all among you,
And we are many...............
*Note: I wrote this as kind of a reference to Slenderman. I used to love the whole lore behind Slenderman, and I still see why it's pretty damn creepy. So, there you have it, folks. Another poem about the insane, blood-fueled machine of my mind.
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Some Things Never Change: A Book Dedicated to Absolutely Nothing At All
De TodoA book dedicated to thoughts, poems, stories, questions, answers, recipes. All sorts of fuckery happening up in here. Also, ignore my very ambiguous and sarcastic title. I do have a very cynical and often bitter sense of humor. Anyways, there are st...
