Poem of Quotes Members
Please log in below, or sign up.



Forgot Password?
feather
arrow
Subscribe to a premium membership! Premium membership
Search for poetry anywhere! PoemofQuotes SE

Madman

Walking
Like a dead man
Thinking
Like he's not
Failing
With every step
Worrying
With every thought

Crossing his mind
abnormal thoughts
making him blind
to all his surroundings

Feeling pure vengeance
evil in his head
forming into a menace
walking the streets alone

The urge to see blood
to take a life right then
all covered in mud
stopped caring long ago

Killing relieves his stress
pleasure revives him, too
even with the urge to caress
that is all he's to do

Depression, angst, anger
all mixed into one
this lone night ranger
never sees the sun

Darkness in his head
evil taking him over
wishing he were dead
even with this "fame"

Unbearable lost scars
making him go mad
he finds it so hard
trying to be happy

Bloodied hopes allover
lives taken each day
never will he be sober
of this one certain drug

He's but a madman
running around the streets!
He's but a madman
Killing what he treats!

He wants to hear screams
He wants them to drop dead
And as he shakily sets the knife down,
the pain empties from his head

He feels no guilt at all
Only pleasure
Pride
And soon seeks out for more

Continues his daily kills
feels better than ever
but when he sits still
his mind beings to wander...

Angst
Worry
Hatred
Pain
How does he rid of it all?
How does the madman do it?

He goes late out at night
seeking more lives
taking what's in sight
All in slow, heaping tides

He's but a madman!
All he wants is to kill!
He's but a madman!
That is his only will!

Demons and pain fill his head
causing him all this dread
Trying to relinquish this growing Hell,
Forming into some Purgatory!

He can't take it any longer
Killing sure does make him stronger
Addicting to it wears him out
He sits alone, screams, and shouts

Picks up the knife on his own
shaking, he brings it up closer
What happens next, you ask?
Will he ever get 'sober'?

The blade roots into his chest
Crimson blood spurting out
All he wanted was rest
And everyone heard his shouts

He lies there, slowly leaving
who knows where he'll go
Soon he's scarcely breathing...
and when it is so...

He was but a madman
Killing for indulgence
He was but a madman
Killing for vengeance
He was but a madman
committed suicide
He was but a madman
Somewhere else he now resides

by DarkCobra
posted on 07/19/2009

Vote: Vote upVote down
Comments: 1
Click here to send this poem to a friend

Comment by Alexblacktears: Jul 19, 2009 11:53 pm
dude this rocks Smiley
Add a comment: