A Book of Murders

in which the spilling of blood reveals all.

⚜ ⦿ ⚜

You hold in your hands,

a book of murders

committed over long years

yea a back and forth war

violent tests invigilated by

an untidy mind.

✤ ☠ ✤

You hold in your hands

a book of crimes,

which in its totality,

in paroxysms of pleading,

asks you to "judge a worthy woman".

you'll smile as I resist; "don't struggle like that, it's unbecoming".

⚜ ☠ ⚜

But you, yea, who art thou, skeleton,

that we can all see peeking

'neath our rusty skin,

tired from our time out in the rain,

spattered with the blood

from all our cover-ups together.

✤ ☠ ✤

Who art thou, skeleton,

to leave without a selfie

evidence which we may leave behind

for the exhumers to examine

and the graverobbers to gilt themselves with.

god what a pleasure it is to be alive, to have gotten away with it all.

☠ ☠ ☠

Read along, together we shall see,

the extent of the terrible exhilirating truth

which runs from brain to bone,

deep to depression, where the blood never dries,

so come here and let me read to you,

yea, take pity on a poor killer who reads

from her beating heart.

☠ ☠ ☠

Click, click, click.