Dissecting A Murder

Dissecting a Murder

by


John Morrison



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Dedicated to
the Masses

9
Misanthropic and I’m missin’ the tropics,
Razorblade fiasco in my wallet and chewing gum in my pocket,
Thick sunglasses over a killer’s eyes, except no one knows
he’s a killer. Standing so close in my proximity and dizziness
overwhelms the ignorant. Blink. Island breeze.
The sedative.
Cough.
The plastic pass-off credit card.
Encouraging smile.
The sting.
Revolver is not loaded – the fraction of a murderer.
The kill.
The serum. Period. The end.

10
New identity revolves the Beretta around the enemy,
But the clean shaven morning musk man I can’t begin to be
is the winner – me.
Cayman Island account. Reinhart transfers at twelve
and the novel hits the final chapter. There are no author
headers at the end. Maybe a fake alias and the
surname are dead ringers for a person as faded
like the wash on a dead man’s jeans.
Decapitated emotions and a mechanical
notion. Killing machine circuitry is a
haywire function. Period. The end.

The mood is garish.

Trash. Complete trash. Garbage in a sea
of crumpled papers. Perpetrators imitating me.
Yes. A Schizophrantic fugue.

Prologue preemie. The endurance of coffee
and sleeping pills is like a stakeout, trying to
find the right words to say at the computer
monitor. The insomnia is impressive – yet
old. Writers are always this eccentric, yes.
They are always a little off.

"Honey, come back to bed." She nags.

"Shut up, Cathie."

"What?"

"I said, I’ll be there in a moment."

"Erm." Lover's drone.

Difficulties. Sometimes the switch
is almost involuntary. My hand itches
for the Beretta. That’s right, Cathie. The gun
I purchased without you knowing.

Blurring into a dead man’s post mortem.
The state is serene like dawn napalm in
‘Nam. Killing antics.

"Honey!" Cathie urges.

"Shove it, Cathie." I spit

"What?" I've been married too long.

"I said, I love you baby." Lover's croon.

"Yeah, I bet."

The perfect mystery cannot
be read and reread by the author.
It is like a curse, like seeing the
bride before the marriage.

Writer’s block.

Asleep and drooling.

I wake up and I don’t know where I
am. It is harder to find myself than to
find where I lie.

"Cathie, did you place me in the woods
holding a Beretta towards a bound man?" Inquisitve rain.

"What ever are you talking about?"

"You know, very well what I am talking about." Switch ravel.

Bang!

The Final Chapter

Crooked demeanor of a smile, and twisted
face. Follow a sextant of a crime.

Cathie slumps. The gun drops. I return to my
position at the desk. I bang my hand on the keyboard
and return to the bed, where Cathie lies in a
peaceful sleep. My breathing is raspy and my
voice is a hoarse roar. In an oblivious state, I
proclaim, “Sometimes the things you love are
forever. Sometimes they are temporary. But everything
you love will not make it –“The trigger is pulled.
Period. The end.

I guess mystery writers are not supposed
to double as murderers. I knew the role all
too well.

Up. You people are lazy.

WEll the vocabulary was very high and some words floated over my head lol...but yeah this is a style i've seen before though where i have no idea, but the way it's used in this is near excellent, you really are getting the hang of delivering dope consistantly, what i really liked was the last haf the whole murder situation na mean. That was vivid enough to put characters in my mind, like i could picture the wife and the husband actually speaking out the dialouges, dialouges are a hit or miss, a hit in this though. The frist two lines, the opener was dope the way your rhymed there that was very clever...so yeah, overall i really liked it, nice job na mean.

couple of comments, thanks
http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/showthread.php?t=316128