1888; Jack The RipperA Poem by Jane Doe
Jack the ripper...
1888, The year of your doings, White chapel, London, The place of your hauntings. The prostitutes had it coming, Didn't they jack? When you mailed half a kidney, When you murdered many. Leather apron, White chapel murderer, Jack.... The ripper. I bet you, Didn't think, Think anything at all, Like families or kids or even getting caught. I know not, Wether your out there, I know not, Why you did it. I know, You should have gotten caught, How dare you, you got some balls, Going on a killing spree.... All for some publicity. I pray, That you will burn in hell, I wish, That you never were. If you didn't kill, If you were normal, You could have been happy, You could of had help and delt with the seven souls situation.... But you didn't. So burn leather apron, Don't cry, Take it like a man white chapel murderer, Take hell and burning alive what you deserve Jack. Was it something your dad did to you? Was it really because you had seven souls? Is it true about your seven souls living through kids? And is it true...that you, Mr.Jack The Ripper that you never got caught? One two jack is coming for you, Three four you better lock the door, Five six grab your crucifix, Seven eight you better lock your gate, Nine ten ...jack will be back again. © 2011 Jane DoeAuthor's Note
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5 Reviews Added on September 3, 2011 Last Updated on September 3, 2011 AuthorJane DoeFLAboutI miss the way words would flow out on to a page and express my deepest concerns so I have returned. more..Writing
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