He has a plan.
It’s a good plan.
He’s been carrying it out since day one
and he knows exactly how it’ll end.
One day.
He’ll get there.
“Though this be madness,
yet there is method in’t.”
He can feel the end become nearer
with every slice, every stab, every death.
He likes the blood.
He likes the plan.
“Though this be madness,
yet there is method in’t.”
Sometimes he feels like
he can do anything he wants.
Whenever he wants.
However he wants.
But the plan.
“Though this be madness,
yet there is method in’t.”
Sometimes he takes pleasure in it
a bit more than necessary
Sometimes the screams give him shivers--
the good kind--
the ones where his toes curl,
his stomach flutters,
his veins pulse--
The plan.
“Though this be madness,
“Though this be madness,
“Though this be madness,
yet there is method in’t.”
He doesn’t want stop himself.
It’s too hard.
He can’t do it.
He can’t remember the plan
as clearly as before.
The blood is everywhere.
The floor, the walls, the ceiling
His hands, his face, his clothes--
his soul.
His direction is lost.
His purpose is gone.
“Though this be madness...”
Madness, madness, madness.
This is madness.
He had a plan.
It was a good plan.
_______________________________________________
That quote "Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t" is from Hamlet, by the way. It's not about Hamlet, I just had to use a quote from it.This was an assignment for my English class. I'm pretty sure some people in my class think I'm a serial killer now. Ha. I'm not I swear.