THE MIND OF MADNESS
(POV: The thoughts of a Serial Killer)

Names on names, my brain can no longer retain.
My steel blade is filled with reddish stain.
The records, I keep.
My victims, I pick.
The screams and cries, I dance to.
The traces and tracks, I cancel.

I sit on a mountain of lifeless bodies.
Begone, oh agent of death, the decease curses.
These hands are my witness.
It's these hands that aids my blade swiftness.

The day will come.
Of when dust, I shall become.
Will I have a wonderful exit?
Or pain and misery is what the future depict?