Their are good and their are bad,
there is no in between.
I am such the latter,
if you know just what I mean...
Sure I have a smiling face,
but its a wicked grin.
And Ive been known to laugh myself,
while screaming from within.
The thoughts that I'm allowed to share,
or only chilling words.
But speech its something else from me,
so scary when its heard.
Spoken so by deaths demands,
for punishment to skin.
When calling out if its your name,
shear terror soon begins.
I have ways of bringing pain,
not written down in books.
Its best we don't see eye to eye,
I may not like your look.
I have no friends there all but gone,
I'm an independent man.
Their very scent is still so strong,
I can smell it in my hands.
I left them all a loss for words,
do you understand?
Their are good and their are bad,
I'm the latter of the man...
saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/their-are-bad/
