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The Monster

written by: Criss Tripp



He lets the monster, out to play;
He's killed so many, in different ways.
He likes to wrap them, up in sheets;
He likes to make them, realize their feats.
Not because the job was good;
But because their inner demons could.
The victims that fall, right by his hand;
They're the ones, who do what they can.
In order to fulfill, that inner need;
They'll go about, their dirty deed.
Never to suspect a final bet;
He injects m99, right into their neck.
As his victims fall unconscious;
Lifeless, Into his arms.
A small little voice echoes;
"Don't get caught".
The monster welcomes;
Their final embrace.
As he takes one small cut;
On the side of their face.
With one drop of blood,
And one glass slide;
His one sharp knife,
Takes their life as they die.
With knife buried deep,
Into their chest;
They close their eyes,
For their final rest.
As another body,
Gets cut into pieces;
There's plenty of glad bags,
To go through the seasons.
As the monster takes,
Another victim;
He boards his boat,
While they come with him.
After all's said and done,
And a body drops to the sea;
He turns around smiling,
For he too fulfilled his need.
As he cracks a beer,
Relieved, it's on ice;
He raises his drink,
To one hell of a night.

Criss Tripp

Criss Tripp

I'm malleable, resilient,
Brilliantly persistent,
Inquisitive by definition;
Explicitly vindictive.
Resistant to the insistent,
Not hesitant to be reticent;
Yet existing to be pernicious.
It's my business to be fearless.
Criss Tripp

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