SICK

READ.

I can't help myself.

I can't stop the urge.

No matter how much I try,

Swelling my sin, I surge.

Her pretty face stares up at me,

Her glassy bright blue eyes unblinking.

Her snapped neck, her tears of blood,

In my pride I feel myself sinking.

I never have a worry for

They never see my presence coming.

Like the wind, I sneak up,

My eyes mad, my mouth foaming. 

They are like my little puppets,

Their mangled joints moved by my strings. 

They waltz across the stage, alive,

But dead. Deader than my playthings.

Stashed in the basement, is where I,

Alive as one, plays around.

The sick sound of a neck snapping,

Excites me. Thrills me. Spellbound.

For I know that all is not well,

For I am a light, and I flick

On and off, dark to bright,

A deep dark laugh. I am sick. 

Reviews

[biggsteve]

i love it

[Aysia]

thank you

[biggsteve]

your welcome

[Ethale Captor]

Sounds like fun. I really like this poem, it was excellent.

[Aysia]

Thank you :)

[Ethale Captor]

No problem.