In Cold Blood
If floors could speak,
their creaks and squeaks would warn of creeps,
but sadly, only heard are whispers made from stranger's feet.
If eyes could yell,
the shattered orbs of glass would tell
of more than fear in lifeless shells,
but the hell that dwells in the eyes of another.
If blood could talk,
the splattered walls would scream and cry for mercy.
But piercing metal shocks that air,
for heaven, none are worthy.
If memories could reveal,
the innocence that evil steals.
Is insanity a devils deal?
or simply just a mad man's zeal?
If pain could flood us from the dead,
and fill the mind with endless dread.
Only then can wisdom bud,
from senseless murder - in cold blood.
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