These violent delights all meet violent ends 

Surface too quickly, and you get the bends 

Glutinous portions of all you can eat

Bitter reminder you thought was so sweet 

Error, implosive; mistake number ten

Still you repeat it and do it again 

Merry and jolly, unseen by the task

Worn to keep covered the darkness you mask

Laughter will merely just cover the tears

Shed over losing, the greatest of fears 

Revelries squandered, good taste and good will

Partying parlor; events than can kill 

Taste of the yolk sack; the embryo womb

Rotten and listless, the fetus's tomb

Rock and a hard place; the fall from up high

Living like eagles but humans can't fly 

Tripping on falsehoods, the wound never mends 

These violent delights all meet violent ends 

Boiling vortex

of intoxicated pleasures

inhabits the darkness

where she lies still.

Whipped alabaster skin and

raw searching lips,

eyes blurred with teary tint,

heartless moon blinding her -

violation of sexuality.

She begs not to be broken

as I stamp hollow earth.

Milk of my iniquity

runs down her cheeks,

words like rocks

batter her self esteem.

Bloodied handprints

mark my territory as

angry passion unfolds

in sucking ocean swirl,

soul branded to her pith

as I enter my arena of lust -

dipping my feet and testing

the water as rain drenches

her water-marked skin.

Heavy music lurks

in shadows of her Hell.

My erotic fantasy

continues to swell.

I see her face

masking destruction

of the buried dead,

piles of crushed throats

scream mournfully

at black sky.

My violent delights

beget violent ends

forcing me to glimpse

the message I send.

These violent delights have violent ends

And to think we once were friends

Bonded by pain, cemented with love

But as soon as push came to shove

You shed far too few tears

At the end of the friend 

You had known for years

At sword-point you chose to speak

I would never have thought 

You could be so weak

You spilled without a second-thought

You didn't keep quiet as you were taught

A sheep in a wolf's skin

I'm ashamed to have 

Once called you kin

These violent delights have violent ends

And to think we once were friends.

My son is a good man. My son is the spectacled, gawkish apple of his preschool toddlers' eyes, the champion of homemade brownies and frosted holiday shortbreads at PTA meetings, the bringer of band-aids and anti-bacterial spray, extra crackers and juice boxes, tissues and shoulders to cry on. My son is the well-spoken, well-liked leader of his less child-oriented peers, miraculously playing the roles of the smart and the funny and the dashing one all at once, and he is notorious among the giggling fourth and fifth graders for his famously dimpled, toothy grin. My son is popular among even the younger mothers -- single or not -- for his benevolent, seemingly sincere nature, his kind, soothing words, and his perfect, perfect smile.

Three cranial fractures. Fourteen stab wounds. I can only wonder why his smile was plastered over the grisly details of the end of the missing child.

I never thought it'd end this way 

I've been led astray 

I was once a predator 

Now I'm the prey 

I would stalk pretty young things 

I'd watch . Waiting . 

When they weren't suspecting I would strike 

I'd cut their throats with one slice of my knife .

That's not all I would do . 

I'd make those girls mine .

Time after time . 

They were so pretty with their dead eyes and lips blue

But those days are over . 

I'm locked in a cell 

I'm the victim now . 

Oh , how the other animals make me pay. 

Tomorrow will be my last day on this earth. 

They'll strap me to a chair and fry my brain for all it's worth. 

These violent delights have violent ends. 

These violent delights have violent ends... the culmination of carnage

trends higher than Kardashians.

Yet nothing can finish before it begins,

and chaotic conclusions derive from illusions of sins.

Starts by supplies supplied rely on swapping dope for dolla bills.

Three times delinquent determine when brain blood spills.

The booming lightening strikes, following a flash of thunder.

Survival on the streets derive dealers to gunners.

Frequent Late Fines,

debts due don't dismiss in any event, done doubled.

Despite dope deviants disappear dodging trouble.

Deliver digits by dawn! Or your life turns to rubble.

Delinquency's frequency pop-pop-pops his own bubble.

Violence Ends In Rough Times,

cuz' thrice threatened is enough. Time limits terminated turn torrential teary eyes to puff.

Dared to distinguish, now mere mirrored words not enough.

Dealt a King with his Jack, but greed made him bust.

Now the King's cash is ash and the Joker's life is dust.

If you make a man who thinks he is a man, who you speak to as a man,

Who you then refuse to treat like a man, and will not truly call a man,

Why take surprise when your caged creation acts unlike men do?

When the thing begins to gnaw back like the beast you think him be,

Like the core of his code has been exposed for his own two eyes to see,

Why take such surprise when your beast boy fights back?

He acts only in the ways you say he will,

Fights only in the ways you say he will,

He is trapped within the cage you made for him,

And then you blame him too, for his own madness.

You blame the prisoner for your wardening of him.

You blame the prisoner and have rightfully imprisoned yourself.

I dab my pen in the ink well of blood.

It drips and sizzles on the parchment paper.

A body lays beneath my feet as I write.

The bloody, blue and black body of someone's wife.

Blood drools from her mouth, and it makes a puddle on the floor.

...I once had a wife.

I shall have her again.

The faraway, still memories of my matrimony and bliss enter my disheveled mind.

It keeps me in the present, aware of my purpose.

If I don't regain it, I will go insane.

She was a moment of peace in the cosmic chaos of life. She is clarity.

I write in my victim's blood to achieve something considered impossible.

'I have taken up your deal, the one you've visited upon me in those demented dreams. I have done the deed. I have traded this poor soul for my lovely Cara. Now release her, Hades.'

I see a response; it's as if the words appear on their own. They are in blood as well.

'Your penance is not done. You must become my servant and guide misguided souls to the ferryman. Before you ask why, they escape him because he must stay at the river; they run astray, far away from the path. They run amok.'

My response is swift

'That is not our deal. You said I must find a soul to replace Cara's spot in the Underworld. I have. I have killed a woman, evidenced by this correspondence written with blood, as you've instructed.'

I wait for a blood-soaked reply. The words come slowly, one by one. They stab me with dread.

'I lied to you. I needed you to kill to stain your soul; be willing to do anything to save her so that you can become my Grim Reaper, my servant. Cara will live if you become my Reaper, or Cara can die and you will be haunted by the voices, the ghostly images of the woman you murdered on a daily basis. It is not pleasant. It is like a Wraith, stalking you in all hours of the day.'

A grisly choice.

This is what I get for trusting Death, a big heavy foreboding mass lacking empathy.

...A life without Cara, but she would live on.

I commit to memory the color in her cheeks, the excitement in her voice and eyes, and the decision is made.

I realize my mistake. I realize that I was tricked. I realize that no matter what I did, I was never going to see her again, but at least she can live on, bringing her brand of peace to the world. Her pocket of calm and reassurance.

'I accept.'

I hear a splash, and then I see it.

A hand, coming from the puddle of blood on the floor.

It is grey and chafed.

It reaches for me, grabs me; I fall through the blood.

I am covered in the blood before I stand at the entrance of the Underworld. And I feel it, sense it, know it even; Cara is in the land of the living, a soul yet to be claimed.

These violent delights

Have violent ends

Blood calls to blood

It knows no friend

It spreads like fire

Every thought it devours

Until in the end

It knows no bounds

These violent delights

With their violent ends

Seduce our mind

Appeal to our primal selves

Just instinct,no logic

Just red,no clear head

It brings just destruction

A cycle with no end.

We know we should stop

But in truth we can't

Violence is addictive

And we like the pain

We lie for it

We beg for it

We even pay

We are now its slaves

We can't quit the game

You see pain is real

In a world full of fakes

This is its appeal

And all that it takes.

I smiled, I brought them in, I played the game of cat and mouse only expect this was a game that involved instead life and death. I stood admits all the other fakers waiting for my next prey, my victim. Mama always told me that"Violent delights have violent ends" but my mama did not know the feeling. The surge of blood and excitement, the power, the wealth of strength. I played not to kill but to be delighted. I lived on the edge not afraid of this violent end. I may be called sadistic but what that the kids all say today?Y.O.L.O? Yes indeed you only live once.