Departed Prior to Arrival

Growing accustomed to your job isn't exactly the greatest thing ever . . .

Every eventide

I hear babies' mellowed cries

echoing beneath the moonlight

undecipherable weeping

obviously begging

for mercy

*

Laying awake

glancing at consent forms

to comfort my traumatized conscience

the confirmations

the signatures

the names

of every

life never

lived

*

Grasping

a syringe filled

with sweet cyanide

that might as well have

been candy

stepping forward

to take

yet another

life

slowly

but

woefully

I developed

a thirst for

blood

that has never been

born

*

Presently

lying awake

heeding the mournful

cries of the departed men

that have never arrived

I realized that

the screams

are almost

enjoyable.

Author's Note

Photo courtesy of JolsAriella on Deviant Art.

Reviews

[John]

Night musings of a decadent executioner. The perversity of the speaker is underlined by giving an elegant shape to a poem with such a grisly subject. Beautifully realised.