The massacre game

 

The rumbling thunder, the bloodied knife

the rustling breeze, the dead wife.

The noisy siren, the pattering feet

the crazed madman, the silent street.

The hideous mask, the sanity uncertain

the dead night, the drawn curtain.

 

The barking dogs, the darkened alley

the imaginary help, the hope gone.

The pleading child, the blood dripping

the blood pouring, the deep wounds.

The sirens gone, the street abandoned

the stenching blood, the decaying corpse.

 

The whitened skin – the reddened hair

the pool widening – the eyes closing

the mouth moaning – the hands clenching

the massacre over, the dead people

the madman smiling, the game… complete.

 

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