A Murmur In Decrepit Wits

Murmur – whisper to me
 Slithering fantasies of cleaning bones, lucid dreams
 Yearning to become real
 The luscious slitting of throats, what fantasy? 

These fictions so corporal so obtuse
 Restricting me, frustrating me
 The fictions so morbid seem foretold
 Digging in the psyche 

No theory, no medication, no session
 Can shed light upon the monster I am told to become
 No theory, no medication, obsession
 The smell of blood, the soothing of the pain mine
 A medical condition? No, merely purpose
 Decrepit wits in a mind mine 

These fictions so corporal so obtuse
 Restricting me, frustrating me
 The fictions so morbid seem foretold
 Release the rage in me 

Set in motion the first kill
 Adrenaline, rushing me
 The fictions so morbid fulfilled
 Release the real in me 

Swing the axe, hang the rope
 The tales of my coming painted in a spree of gore
 Do say your prayers, they shall be answered
 By the cutting of blades as your insides are drained 

No longer murmurs – in thy decrepit wits
 A spree of murder – unleash my insanity
 Meticulous plan, the fruition of years of mental disorder
 A spree of terror, the canvas of decay
 Left behind for them to find, in perspicuity 

Murmurs – whisper to me
 Slithering fantasies of cleaning bones, lucid dreams
 Yearning to become real
 The luscious slitting of throats, what fantasy?