Member-only story
He Infected Them With His Insanity
Now he’ll be the one doing their bidding
He couldn’t help his need to slaughter,
It’s that sordid voice in his head, mocking,
At times it’s silent and life is so peaceful,
And others it’s rancid, he’s no luck blocking.
He sleeps during the worst times,
Living in his dreams,
Then when he wakes he sees the carnage,
And the laughter in his head erupts into screams.
Each kill is more vicious than the last,
Performed while dreaming, forgoing the mess,
Dreading the waking hours,
The cracked and broken bodies, prove of his faithfulness.
He can’t escape who it is he is meant to be,
As he wakes to body after body, still more,
Each victim buried under a mound of dirt,
Out of sight, so he can now ignore.
Until the next spree falls over him,
Leaving another piece of the broken puzzle,
Raw and bloody, lifeless,
Shot and beaten to a pulp with his gun muzzle.
