Foul Murder 1: Foul Murder

This is the first poem to my series of poems of which I only have two so far....I've been in a tidbit of writer's block.

I've been caught for foul murder,

felony of "shame".
An empty doll was buried in
the lake down the street,
maybe three blocks away.
 
I've committed arson,
vandalism, murder...
And just about every crime contemplated.

I sit in my cell,
With the officer's gun.
Thinking and speaking of murdering the cellmate
snoring as loud as Hell...

I have been caught for witchcraft,
for making potions and poisons.
I am a witch,
a wretch.
You may call me anything you like,
but I walk these streets,
these nameless streets.
Call me anything you find necessary,

but don't be surprised if there isn't a tear shed,
just a bullet in your head.

Possibly,
depending on how much I despise you..
draining your blood and ripping apart your bones and muscles.
Then freezing your organs in a meat freezer
And hanging your scarred and empty body from the ceiling of your attic!

Oh...
The excitement this gives me.
Just talking about it!

The blood will spread
from my emotionless moving vessel;
for I,
I've been caught.
I've been caught for foul murder!
Now I sit in my cell
with this and pistol,
ready to murder this man in the most violent of ways.
I will drown him first,
shoot him five times,
And tie his converse shoe string to his head and to his ankles and hang him up on the ceiling and stretch his numb body..

Oh yes!
I've got my dream!
For I,
I've been caught for foul murder...

Author's Note

Please tell me if you think there is something you don't like or any questions about it such as..."You didn't really do this did you?" The answer to that one is a big fat NO. I don't actually handle blood and the scent of death too well. One of the main reasons I hate funeral homes. However cemeteries do give a good aura of relaxation when you need one.