Design Flaw
I'm a villian of sorts, or sort of a villian
Got a million of stories, and stories of millions
But I'm inclined to begin, dare not I say when
With a tale about men, overcome with sin
The night fell fast, and shadows moved past
He sits near the trash, hand on his flask
His mind is diseased, and all logic has ceased
Lives with no ease, resents when he breathes
As he drifts from sane, he dreams about pain
The hurt that had came, and blood in the drain
The scene was of gore, unlike any before
A blade on the floor, by a body or four
Carefully he cleans, erasing the scene
So the act of a fiend, will remain unseen
He starts with an arm, and saws with a calm
Til the feeling of harm, comforts his palm
He bags each part, each limb and each heart
Until evidence at start, will unsuspectingly depart
He feels evil and cold, though no apology told
His expression controlled, no motives unfold
He carries each sack, as a trophy on his back
And digs behind a shack, when night is most black
The sun comes to rise, and darkness sudsides
He opens his eyes, and revisits the cries
As if stuck on repeat, he remembers his feat
Less bitter than sweet, and all but complete
He takes his stand, with gun in hand
Last thoughts disband, all is as planned
The end draws near, and he pulls with no fear
The neighbors will hear, the public will tear
Bodies unearthed, and pieces dispersed
The children first, but the wife is the worst
News will spread, and minds are fed
The world moves ahead, less a family dead
*this was originally posted in Open Mic, I have added a part, edited it to improve the flow and thought it fit better as a poem. Hope you enjoyed.
http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...877/index.html
http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...537/index.html