The Euphemistic KillerHe starts with theft,The Euphemistic Killer by Psyghostis
Assigns himself murder,
And the police won’t know
His true M.O.
This victim’s poisoned,
This one stabbed,
Some have been shot
And some got grabbed
By the hood of a car.
Still, others seem to
Have wanted it, or I
Suppose that’s what they’ll say,
That it’s really a selfish thing
To not let someone think
It’ll all be better another day.
So the murders get relabelled
And the victims condensed –
Just think of the families –
Into one group of people who
Deserved their own end.
Just think of the families,
Oh what will they do,
But when these people were alive,
The family was most thought of then, too.
Broken BoneNo one ever told youBroken Bone by Psyghostis
You’d have to unlearn
What you found in your fists.
The world does not like
Men like your father,
And though they did not
Get in his way to get you out
Of his, now they hope you’ll
Just see you’re not meant
To be that way:
Be tame out of the cave
And don’t flinch at shadows
Or raise your fists to loud voices;
They don’t know that what looks
Like violence is bred not from
Bad bones, but an education
AmbivalenceMy love for you is like a river:Ambivalence by Psyghostis
it flows and flows, but I can
never manage to get away from you;
you follow me up- and down-stream,
and I can only hope for the day
that I lead you to a hook.
I cannot get to the end
of counting my love for you
when I use the stars as
my abacus, yet still you won't
get lost among their numbers.
I have as much thought for you
as a dandelion-clock has fur –
yet no matter how much I blow you off,
still you’re seen again all over the place.
Speed-dating a Serial KillerHe thinks it’s God when someone enters,Speed-dating a Serial Killer by Psyghostis
come in and string up a wreath of fog,
(replace the noose, slip from the garrotte)
and show him cold, ice-cold–– whatever you’ve got
(anything’s gotta be better than the cough syrup shot) –
and he’d believe you if you told him you’d want him shot,
just as long as you want him Jeffrey Dahmer hot:
flush-red diamonds and a heart
on the murder-trail (and wanted in bed),
consider him good for cooking but always better off dead.
He’s a walking victim complex,
smashing mirrors with stones,
and he only drops the narrative when he picks up the phone –––
Stop putting words in my mouthYou shove your fingersStop putting words in my mouth by Tangled-Tales
down my throat,
and insert words
I never spoke,
in desperate hopes
to make me choke
my pearly gates
that feeds me