Here’s another poem from the POV of a serial killer: the villain of my in-progress mystery novel, The Murders in the Endicott Hotel.
Those who call it the sweet kiss of death
Have not seen people die
The way I have.
There’s nothing sweet
There’s nothing like a kiss
In the deaths of the people
Whom I kill.
A more appropriate way
To describe their deaths
Would be the bitter, rancorous clawings
Of untimely death.
But that is not poetic.
That is not
Metered
Or rhyming
Or even illuminating.
But I suppose
That if you want metered
And Rhyming
Then you should go
For Dr. Seuss
And if you want illuminating
Then go
To the light bulb store.
Because if you come to me,
I will give you death
And the kind of death I give you
Will never remind anyone
Of a
Sweet kiss.
