Bloody mess
I can't help but wonder
Why pictures continue to stir
Of this man I hate
And his bloody fate.
I see him lying on the floor
His hand still on the knob of a door
He must have put up some kind of fight
For all of his sight
Is now lying on the floor of moonlight
His legs are on the couch
Arms in the fridge, a form of a louch
And fingers on the remote
Finally, body in a large tote
I glance at myself in a mirror
And to my own terror
I am covered in blood
The chainsaws blade I held was now a dud
I still can't help but wonder
Who made this huge blunder
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