Smile

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem inspired by watching an interview with the serial Killer known as ' The Ice Man' and all sorts of mentally disturbing criminals. This poem was made from the truth, which is probably what makes it so twisted. Keep that in mind whilst reading. Please tell me your thoughts :)
Have fun...and don't forget to smile.

Submitted: August 03, 2014

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Submitted: August 03, 2014

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Smile

He sat there as if made with marble,
a smile playing on his face.
I stared into those empty eyes,
the last that some had faced.
Who play God, his hands of sin, a predator of the weak.
Hunts them down to rip them up,
as if it's like some treat.

The smile spoke words of ice-like grace,
freezing at my heart.
My blood ran still, though I felt ill, this was just the start.
The smile explained the things he'd done,
bragged about the dead.
How he had watched a thousand mice eat a human's head.
Apparently the conscious body was twitching at the time,
as mice made home in the  rotting socket of one eye. 
The smile grew wider as he told of another thing he'd seen,
a knife that dug ten times deeper than any that had been...
a new record, he laughed, remembering the scene. 
The smile grew large at the thought of bodies doing what they shouldn't,
twisting, snapping, overlapping, then a rotten, dirty corpse. 
He loved to see the final glimpse of life in a pair of eyes, 
then evapourating at his hands, pleasure on his tongue. 

A bag of water, the smile continued, was one way to describe it.
Then drop the bag held from your hand, then stand and watch it fall. 
He got a rush from the tension of waiting, the climax reaching fast,
He loved to see the body drop when shot with one quick blast.

I asked if he felt human after all he'd seen, 
Yet he smiled again, normal and plain, then suddenly I'm the one who's insane! 
that smile began to grow on me, he noticed straight away. 
It seemed so normal, so human like, I didn't feel afraid.
He said he may seem like a friend, but warned me not to care,
He said that what he really was, was somebodies worst nightmare. 
I snapped from my illusion, gagging at the thought, of him enjoying ending life and sexual assault.

I watched him get taken to a chair, marble still in movement. 
He sat with grace, slated face, his smile now gone elsewhere.
I saw the sponge placed upon his head, soaking and dripping down.
The wires tangled in a puzzle all around his head,
no dred embbeded in his face, accepting that he's dead.

Just before the lever pulled, he turned and looked my way.
He gave the smile,
said goodbye, 
then I saw his skin electrify.


© Copyright 2017 Anima Hunter. All rights reserved.

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