The Dead That Kill...

the desperate and demented
the never-to-be contented
In blood that's shed or boiled
In plots they've finished or foiled
the death remains within them
as the kill cannot resend them

Life is but an act
a lie and not a fact
for the murderers of this age
that kill without a rage
then calmly turn the page
Plotting scenes to fill the stage

They direct these horrid scenes
leaving riddles of what it means
for them to take away
for them to choose the way

they lurk inside the shadows cast
from the darkness of some sordid past
and erase reflections of their dark
compelled by this to leave a mark
one to blot-out all they see
that they believe should never be

It's the mad that reflect the madness
that hide behind some simple sadness
the love of life and hate of death
cannot together fill a breath
as hatred growls and love but sighs
one sound swells as the other dies

The dead that kill are always there
even when lost inside a stare
they cannot live and will not die
even though they sometimes try

To mourn them as all mourn the dead
is to open veins that will be bled
their poison infiltrates all tears
and preys upon both souls and fears

One must not cry and must not rage
at the sight of horror in cage
to keep them separate or put them down
will still not cleave the verb from noun

So long as evil lurks in men
the same will be of all that's been
the dead that kill are part of life
just be careful around the proverbial knife
for every blade that slices through
can easily be the death of you