Ripper

A poem about my Favorite Serial Killer from History...the Serial Killer from White Chapel England in 1888... Jack The Ripper! haha I'm obsessed...And the woman in this is Annie Chappman a Ripper Vic.

Ripper  

I stand in the alleyway, my cloak fluttering in the wind between buildings
I can see the constable patrolling the streets
The watchful eye of Londons finest can never spot me
He meanders off, no doubt wondering when his patrol is over and he can go home
I wait patiently, as I always do
One must have patience, after all, in order to savor what one gets
And I love the thrill of it all, the blades and the blood
It makes my heart pound in sheer ecstasy
Nothing can compare
Nothing
I hear a door open and laughter and high spirits leak into the night air
A man and a woman come out
The man, obviously drunk
The woman, clearly a prostitute
With slurred speech, the man says "Come on then, Annie. On your knees."
The woman obliges and opens his trousers
She puts her mouth on him and the man only contains his delight for so long before
She's finished and the man drops some money onto the ground
He buttons up his trousers and heads inside, back to more drink and high times
The woman picks up the money with ravenous, starving hands
Now is the time
I come up behind her, silent as cat steps
She stands and tries to let out a scream, but I don't let her
For I slash her throat open
Before she can draw a breath.
Now, to business
I open my bag of delightful little tricks
Scalpels, clamps, the like
I'm skilled enough to be a doctor, you know
And, while some may call me savage,
I'm far to skilled and precise for that moniker
A gunshot would be savage
I am surgeon precise
I cut open her stomach in a single incision
There it is
the blood
I love to see the blood spill out of them
I begin to go to the real work of it all
Cut out her stomach
intestines
lungs
heart
kidneys
liver
and before I knew it she was eviscerated
Blood on my hands and guts in the bag
I cut her ear off as a memento of sorts
Not that I'd need refreshing on the nights events
I pack my things and no one will ever know I was here
I retire to my house and the doorman greets me
"Evening, Mr. Jack!" he says
"Evening, Tom." I reply.
my work is done,
For tonight...


End Note:
 Many people thought old Jack was a sergeon by the precice incisions and cuts that were created on the victims like Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chappman, Catherine Eddowes, Elizabeth Stride and especially Mary Kelly. I on the other hand, do not. I have not completed my research as of this date (August 29th, 2015), so I have no conclusive evidence nor any true suspects with said concrete eveidence to tie them to any of the crimes. i will continue my research and investigation and in the end, maybe in time, if the Goddess wills it, I will find my own conclusion as to who Dear old Jack the Ripper was. But until then, I remain impassive and an observer of others who also study this elusive serial killer  and try to find their conclusions as to who he was.

- Kayla Gentry
August 29th, 2015
7:11 p.m.