The process is a flow
The reason unknown
Got to go low
To see how its done
The helpless screams
The nightmare dreams
To feel how it feels
To kill someone
To make him bleed
The innocent pleads
Till blood runs dry
The killers arise
To claim their prize
Dont be in surprise
To see those murderous eyes
its pleasure to them
they could not bear him
those black hearted men
even heaven rains
to wash the remains
nothing left now
just an empty soul
the world so cold
has reached its goal
killed the man
who once lived a life
of misery and sacrifice
but still he lived
rhymed a few words
a gift he received
when he found a few hearts
for a minute or two
they used to understand him
with a pat or two
they used to leave him
behind
never a second thought
in their mind
never they would rewind
those few minutes
emotional kind
but those few minutes
was all he needed
but still in his soul
for more he pleaded
for someone
for some more time
who understands more
than just words rhyme
but alas
his hopes were too too high
his drops of tear never dried
cruel the world
attacks the weak
attacks so quick
few moments of pain
a hell of blood reign
suck out emotions
dry it to the last drop
kill they kill
till all his rhymes stop
satisfied they leave behind
someone of their own kind
and search for the next man
arouse their lust of destruction
again in their short life span
prowling silent
in the cold night
with the newborn man
of their own kind
who searches with them
to continue the kill
to continue the will
of the black heart
wish he could come back
but never he will
never he can
the cut's too deep
his death was ensured
HIS POEM WAS WEAK.
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