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Inspired by the 'dear boss' letters from the infamous Jack the Ripper!!!


Submitted:Feb 4, 2009    Reads: 118    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   


Dear boss, I'm sure you've seen my work surrounding London Town,
I choose my subjects by the day and start when sun goes down,
I am the artist of the dark, the sculptor of the night,
I carve away the sins from all the whores who catch my sight,
For if in life these city slags pollute our London air,
Then I shall use my talents to restore the good once there,
Their filthy charms promote a lust, to which most men are beckoned,
Their money spills to spend on thrills that only last a second,
Their empty pockets travel home where till the morn they rest,
While wanton wenches jingle pennies, happy and grotesque,
And as they merry fortune I approach the crooked harlots,
A flash of blade and then away, to leave them painted scarlet,
Perhaps you'd like to ponder on why such crime takes my fancy,
The reason for my motives and the pleasure which it grants me,
Well wonder on no more my friend for I will soon reveal,
I'll serve you up a menu for how great it makes you feel,
I stalk the alleys by the night the moonshine guides my path,
My booted foot treads lightly and the walls resound my laugh,
The cobbled stones within them hold the knowledge of mans sins,
They tell me names of shameful dames and so my work begins,
I need not travel long before I find a hussy damson,
Whom noticing my regal dress believes I'll pay her handsome,
And though her sad seduction to myself appears amusing,
I fake a smirk and get to work on the art of whore abusing,
Before her mouth rich in decay can even touch my lips,
I take the dagger from my side and thrust it in her ribs,
Her eyes bulge from their sockets as her hand grasps at the blade,
Her face expresses much regret at the big mistake she made,
I revel in the torture for several seconds more,
Then swiftly I retract my knife as she tumbles to the floor,
But still my job is not complete I must conclude my task,
And to ensure I am not caught my hands must travel fast,
With human beings as canvas my job seems much more thrilling,
I see it as a work of art in preference to a killing,
These girls were once so beautiful but through their wayward lives,
Their morals all lie vacant now that they are devils wives,
And so I must their sins remove, the organs which are cursed,
I carve away their womanhood so good is reimbursed,
I take my sleek and shining blade and cut from left to right,
The bleeding throat has now redeemed this lady of the night,
And as I walked the empty streets my sole burned in affection,
For with this crime came unto me a spiritual connection,
The moon shone ever brightly and the sky it seemed to smile,
The sense of pride I felt that night made murder all worth while,
At first this left me satisfied, I'd left my strong impression,
But removal of the organs soon became a new obsession,
I couldn't leave the London queans with so much left intact,
How could I end on this when there was more left to extract?
And so my vixen victims left in crimson covered rivers,
Would soon be missing stomachs, lungs, their pancreas and livers,
As you will know the last to go was absent several parts,
And in the package with this note I've bestowed to you her heart.
Good luck my ever searching friend but you shall never find me,
All that you have to muster clues is what I leave behind me,
My shoes do not make footprints, and my name remains Anon,
Where you have started looking I've already been and gone,
I am the merry murderer the killer cloaked in black,
The clever, cutthroat criminal…but you can call me jack.




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