"42"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
[Warning...not for the faint of soul/heart/mind/sanity] What the **** is wrong with me?

"Judge not the speck of blood in your neighbor's eye lest thou shall judge thine-self of the viscera in your own eyes. " - The Number 42

Submitted: March 10, 2012

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Submitted: March 10, 2012

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42

 
 
He cries for help seem irrelevant to the daybreak’s
early sun
For by the time her calls are answered; my deeds will be
far past being done
Without a trace of why this happened; without a suspect 
to blame the slaughter displayed
Only hollowed eye sockets and mouth sewn shut; a puppet 
I not long ago made.
She is a beauty I have chosen to show my love today
And delicacies aren't anything I'm prepared to let get 
away
I've acquired flavor for gamey flesh
Yet raw organs I favor best; days after they're savored 
their aftertastes stay
 
She wasted time she could have used to plan the safest 
way to escape
If she had only known the possibilities; what lust for 
death I shall rape
Without an understanding of why the blood continues to 
boil within my veins
Only the pain I'll undergo when I ignore the voices in 
which my brain retains
I was a killer before I met this beauty, I now recollect
 
The way she walk, to how she dropped…I shall never forget
 
When I finished strangling my love, I noticed a 
compliment most pursue
She was so sweet as to change her face color to my 
favorite shade of blue
 
True I may be sick yet that doesn't make me a person 
without remorse
 
In the event I catch your routine of having sex with my 
half eaten corpse...
And you look up at me, staring at you smiling with a 
piece of liver stuck in my beard...
(Just because I happen to eat human carcasses; don't 
think of me as cold or weird)
 
Then I'll call you sick.
 
 
 
- Copyright © 2012 by 'The Number 42'


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