BLOOD ON MY HANDS

Today I found some more blood on my hands
But these were spots that I could just wash out.
I wish I knew what my psyche demands
And what this pent up rage is all about.

The trite of day seems boring and mundane
But darkness overflows with macabre.
I know this because of the bloody brain
I find sitting by the candelabra.

I'm sure police are searching for myself
Or maybe just the monster that I hide.
That's why I don't keep the brains on a shelf
And eat them before I venture outside.

I hope that soon this madness will surcease
So that my sordid soul will find some peace.