Through the Eyes of an Artful Killer

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Through the Eyes of an Artful Killer

I sit...I plan...I plot
I patiently await
For that perfect time
My work to instigate.

The discipline
Sets me apart
Unlike any other
I must outsmart.

I started out small
With animals and like
Now I need more
To cause the same spike.

They'll never catch me
I am the best
With each murder
I pass their test.

I choose my Art
At random they say
Every step a process
One must obey.

I love the thrill
Of the look in their eye
Helpless, pathetic
As I watch them die.

To my collection they go
Evidence wiped clean
Flunky Dunkin' eaters
First on the scene.

But nothing they'll find
I'm sure of this
I'm calculating and precise
Not sloppy nor remiss.

The sad irony comes
Realizing my skills die with me
I can't train another
Without compromising my history.

So no one the wiser will be
My secrets, my bodies die with me
Just how perfect my crimes were
And the victims will forever "disappear".

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Qualin commented on Through the Eyes of an Artful Killer

07-30-2009

if yea ant got nuttin ta sa dont sa nuttin at all....questin did ye proff read this here poem..huh...if'n ye did yoo shor sik n tha haad...lik yea mita ett som sor posm fat...overair at timaar Mcposoms my heer namsa ...qualin

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

ignesfatui’s Poems (10)

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Through the Eyes of an Artful Killer 1
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