Kill Little Boy, Kill Kill

The blood runs down his hand dripping to the ground,

A knife in one hand, a life in the other.

Once ivory bed sheets, now stained a dark carmine.

His mind howls of horror,

Kill, little boy, kill kill.

Five, o’clock the ticking clock reads.

Four, locked doors enclosing everyone into the house.

Three, lives in his hands.

Two, of which were children,

One, voice reverberating in his head,

Kill, little boy, kill kill.

The neck leaves spurts of blood running across the wall,

The wrist drops down to the beige carpet in waves,

The ceiling is covered in spatter like the stars in the night sky,

The Mattress soaked in gallons of the flowing gore.

He looks around at the masterpiece he has created,

Kill, little boy, kill kill.

Lynn Roberts, Mother, sprawled on the floor, slit throat.

Dean Roberts, Brother, sitting position in corner, wrists slit.

Marie Roberts, Sister, still under covers, Multiple stab wounds to head.

Cal Roberts, only 12 years old, convicted of murder,

Plead insanity of cries of help in his mind repeating,

Kill, little boy, kill kill.