Sweet Kiss

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.

Evelyn de Morgan – The Angel of Death, 1880.



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
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.



I am writing a thrilling murder-mystery novel, and it’s called More Punishment than Crime.  Its villain is a poet.  Each time that this villain commits a murder he writes a terrifying poem.  🙂  This is another of the poems from the book.

Picasso - Melancholy Woman
Pablo Picasso – Melancholy Woman, 1902.

A ball once bounced across the street.
I watched it from the window.
Its parabolas were nice and neat.
A child followed it and was struck by a car.

Once upon the merry-go-round,
Never again into the canary-dead mine.
As youth we slept amongst graveyard stones;
At Christmas we sang “Auld Lang Syne.”

There were dogs and cats,
Animals of all kinds.
We petted their heads;
We twisted their spines.

At school we put on such a façade
That it fooled all the others
Who never knew we were odd;
And at Christmas we sang bright carols.

Life is not more merry, nor a better ride,
If we show our true colors;
We must keep our real selves inside,
Because we are a monster.