Red,
red,
pouring
down.

I think your head might look better,
when it’s rolling on the ground?

Scratch, scratch,
My nails on your skin–
Running down your back,
Needle-like scars;
O, look,
The red,
It’s coming out
In droplets,
Droplets,
It’s oozing out;
Scratch, scratch,
Blood under my nails–
My, that’s gonna take a while to get out!

Stab, stab,
Knife through your chest–
Pardon the intrusion,
Steel coming in;
Shirt goes
Rip,
Rip,
Rip;
Red is seeping,
Hole clogged in,
Let’s twist to
The left,
And twist it back again;
Stab, stab,
Blood on the hilt–
Aw, should have wrapped it in plastic then!

Bang, bang,
Gun to the head–
Shot through the cranium,
That’s going to leave a mark;
Brain goes mushy,
Mushy,
Can you still count to three?
One,
Two,
Your systems down,
What ever can we do?
Bang, bang,
Blood on the wall–
Would have been prettier,
Splattered a little bit more!

Red,
red,
pouring
down.

If graveyards had a monarchy,
I’d have given you the crown!

–Β “Murder # 4”

LL.

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