My Wife, My Victim
I tarred and feathered her today.
Then I set the feathers aflame.
I have to get my own way
or else I must kill or maim.
I tortured the love of my life.
Then she died, very slowly.
This was better than using a knife,
as she was especially lowly.
I killed my little sister before
though no one knows why she went missing.
I was jealous when I found them on the floor
of her room doing a lot more than kissing.
My wife is victim number eleven.
She should be grateful; she got what she wanted.
To go straight to what she calls heaven.
So why do I feel like my house is now haunted?
I woke up knowing I was sick.
I cannot believe what I’ve become.
I’m a time bomb that hasn’t yet ceased to tick.
I try to self-medicate with rum.
I don’t want to do this again.
One day I will no doubt get caught.
I caused a lot of people pain.
For that I’m finally distraught.
I feel guilty, but what now?
I think they’re already on to me.
Before I know for certain how
I’ll be crossed out of my family tree.
That hurts me more than death row could.
I’d rather get the electric chair.
I know I’m feeling what I should.
I set fire to my sister’s hair.
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