Poetic Homicide

It was I who Killed the poem, yes I admit it,
I pleed guilty to all the charges and I hope I don't get aquitted,
I shanked the poem with my pen, disregaurding all the rules,
So that the poem would bleed out thousands of untold truths,

He was hiding in my mind, so I knew where to find him,
I wanted him to see me coming, so I decided not to blind him,
He saw me and tried to run and escape out my lips,
But I had this planned out and set up a wire, so he'd trip,

As he fell out the lips, he stumbled into my trap,
It was a snare of white sheets that laid in my lap,
Then I began to slice his body, with my weapon of choice,
I cut open his lips and I gave him a voice,

As he yelled, I kept cutting, his blood ran black,
He tried to call for help, but he was already under attack,
His body stopped moving and his ARTeries went dry,
But I'm proud of my work so there's no need to lie,

That poem died by my hands and of this I am proud,
I will tell the whole world, I will confess my crime loud,
And when you see the corpse of this poem, just know that I built it,
And when someone ask, "What happen to that poem?" Just say "Lance Killed it"

-2006