I originally wrote this poem in high school inspired by Walt Whitman. I thought it was time for the text to get a new coat of paint.
We are all murderers,
pretending we don’t have previous kills.
Like
the body lying in the basement
which has been there all along.
The blood in the sink
something that none of us can see.
I keep a scrapbook,
In memory of the fallen corpse.
So, they don’t die in vain.
Eyes lush like pearls;
Now closed forever.
However, in the picture, they sparkle like rhinestones.
Smiles so bright footlights become jealous.
Flowers in a world of weeds.
The reason why they get cut out.
Surgically removed without consent.
Killing gives you life,
adrenaline drowning blood that swims in arteries.
Brains displaced to feed this hunger.
To feel invisible when eyes watch you sleep.
The taste of freedom always causes the animal to return.
I live in a kingdom,
the word 'normal,' is nonexistent in vocabulary.
The beauty from within the towers,
the hostess cooked their chef,
and cannot claim offence when I skin mine.
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