Tears Of Blood~a horror poem

Grab. Kill. Run. That's the horrific motto of cereal killer Amy, who is blood thirsty, and is never satisfied. To make things worse, she has uncontrolable anger issues, however that is nothing compared to how she kills people. Every single death is as creative and tortureous as a famous piece of art. To Amy, hanging and stabbing is merely a pin prick...
And all this happens at OakStore Doctors, in the sinister street of Black Road.


Grab. Kill. Run.

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1. It does not need a name, if it does not need life.

  I'm Amy, the one you all fear.
The one who grabs you, where night is near.
I lure you in, calling your name.
Preparing your death, deciding your pain.
Your death is a meal.
Your injuries will never heal.
Should a beautifull carved cut, stuffed with ironically painful salt do for a snack?
Or prehaps a hand, or a foot I shall hack.
Your body is the wood.
I am the craftsman.
I shall pierce your heart, as if I were a dartsman.

Black Road is the path you will take,
OakStore doctors is the trap. Fake.
You may be there with a nasty cough
Or maybe a brain that went saggy and soft.
Whatever the reason, your footsteps occur there.
I will be pleased about it, carefully planning to pull out your hair.

Gassing you with some excrutionating fumes might work as a tea,
But is there any pleasure in that, for me?
Drawing on your stomach with my silver crayons will be fun.
Just remeber this, you have nowhere to run.
Meaty thighs, will soon turn to bone.
I prefere to kill you on my own.

Long, agonizing deaths will follow.
Soon, you'll be begging to die, tomorow.
But no, I'll let you live for day apon day.
While I carry on planning, my creative way
Now I'll pull your eye lashes out, one by one
Until that pretty face, contains no beauty-none.
The only medicene you will take
Will not be any fancy anitbiotics,
But the left over drugs I make
To kill my mind, from all things good.
To bring out the worst in everything I do.
Don't go crying tears of blood, when I refuse your death.
I will torture you forever more, I know best.
Every scarlet strand of hair I own,
Was died with your blood alone.
As for my  green nails,
The mould from the flesh I store in pails.

Just like this poem, your death will be long.
And as you die, I sing you this song:
"Fall asleep, I'll get you somehow.
Might be later, might be now.
Either way, I shall find you,
Don't cry tears of blood,
Like drops of morning due."
But before I do that, a brick will be thrown at your face
Repeatedly hit, you'll look a disgrace.
But apon your stomache on which I drew,
Will be a work of art, somthing new.
Every death is unique
Reaching no limits, I have no peak.
Screams are music to my very ears
Sobs are a favourite tune to hear.
Doctor surgerys are my theme
In which patients can redeem,
Medicene and perscriptions if they're lucky,
Other wise they'll be grabbed and beaten mucky
Don't you go crying tears of blood
While walking down BlackRoad.
Come on in to OakStore Doctors, its my home.
Come be my paper, so I can use my silver crayons again.
Come be my wood, so I can carve you with my chisels.
Come be my chicken, so I can sell your legs to the shops.
Come be my stone, so I can knock you down.
Come to me, so I can Grab you.
Come to me so I can kill you.
Come to me, but don't cry no blood tears.
Don't cry no blood tears.
Don't cry them blood tears.

 

#by Sophie:)#
 



 

 

 

 

 

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