I have an obsession I must confess.
A slight intercession I can't redress.
I love to kill and it's my style.
To kill you I'll go an extra mile.
I pick my targets with caring craze.
Ponder my choices for many days.
If you're protected it matters not.
I always have a clear, clean shot.
I start with a camera or maybe the news.
I learn all about you to heighten my muse.
I write silly poems and send them to you.
You ponder the riddles but can't see through.
Sometimes you think I'm in love with you.
If obsession is love, I guess it's true.
All the time I'm plotting your kill.
Methodical precision like climbing a hill.
A sexual perversion I must admit.
Plotting and planning I get off on it.
How long it takes is not a matter.
I love to prolong the pitter and patter
Hold off the orgasm until it's too late.
Thought of your organs on my plate.
Finally, I pick the where and the when.
My heart beats with joy as I settle in.
I have you in my crosshairs like a toy.
Thoughts of your bottom as sweet as a boy.
Blood rushes to my temples, my legs go weak.
The ultimate pleasure my body fluids seek.
The laser red dot says it's time to deploy.
I squeeze the trigger with infinite joy.
The plume on your forehand signals a hit.
There's blood on my lip where it's been bit.
I see you go down with a single round.
Air reechoes with reverberating sound.
Gather up news accounts and read with glee.
As bumbling bureaucracy tries to catch me.
My obsession’s still unsatisfied and must be filled.
My account is overdue and has been billed.
I'm seeking a new recruit to give me a thrill.
Waiting and watching, just over the hill.
Photo Courtesy Oklahoma State University
War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2006 © Ronald W. Hull