Writer 13
“A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.”
“Memoirs”
I did some bad things. Most people don’t understand why
To be honest, I don’t either, guess I’m just a bad guy
We get in here cause we’re evil - some let caps fly
But I’m the worst, like the reaper with the number that died.
When I was caught? Where to start?
Was it the day they at last they signed the Patriot Act?
I know I was taken aback when that shit mistakenly passed.
What happened to unreasonable searches and seizures?
I thought to search a home that a warrant is needed?
I’ll start earlier. First time I killed, I was about eight or so years in age
Met a bully, he tormented me, I couldn’t contain all the searing rage.
Never thought that my response could bring the pain that it went to make
At the time all I knew was I wanted to break the shit’s ribcage.
So I did. I ended his life quickly and nobody noticed.
My procedure was simple - I just waited for us to be alone for a moment
Grabbed the nearest rock, then him, and once his bones had been broken
I left his body on the ground, it was thrown in the open.
That was an error, I admit. Luckily I wasn’t forced to hang for it.
I didn’t hide it well, I fucked up in the course of faking it.
But it should have ended there. It didn’t. Killing became an addiction.
Take this book as a warning - don’t follow in my way, all you children.
I’m locked up behind bars now. All they let me have is a typewriter.
I get the chair in three months. I’ll die soon, but I’ll write about my life prior.
Alexey sighed and pushed the keys as far away as he could.
He knew he’d never see another day - that was good.
But he could never stomach his story not being the end-all of the sinners.
Of those among us who murder It was entitled “Memoirs of a Killer.”
Writer 20
“A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.”
[Intro] Smashing fist, cracking hits, while seeking walls to climb/ A strict job, Justice, was consuming all his time/ His alter ego was the evil. He knew right from the start/ Desolation- a silent killer -filled his mind and his heart/ But the Guilt held him Captive- the weight was suffocating/ Silky webs created pictures of what his mind was painting/ Vaguely portraying- His confession to Mary Jane, the only girl that he was Dating/
Sending text after text, checking if they might have sent/ Mary Jane was texting Peter, She thought he might be sick/ Her mind was pondering.. "How her boyfriend Peter Parker's freakin night was spent"/ Diagnosed with a illness, called the Spidey sense/ Peter Parker has some symptoms, that always causes him: To ignore friends, leave relationships in the dark/ and destroy all the connections he had in his heart/ Cuz His job called for overtime, every day of the week/ And left Mary Jane alone, as she laid in her sheets/ She was Anxious and lonely, while she bathed in grief/..That evening, Spider-Man was smacking all the villians/ And shortly after, he'd receive daps from all the children/ Obviously, the police could have handled the situation/ but he's addicted to the rush, the pain, exhilaration/ Predetermined goals, he'd go uptown-now/ But had a Polar shift in plans, they turned upside-down/ That day, looking at the cafe- there was a surprise/ He witnessed his heart, Mary Jane, with tears in her eyes/ Epiphany. He realized while he flirted with Justice/ Anxiety and loneliness- took Mary Jane in their clutches/ He knew it was his fault, but what ever could he do?/ Guilt tackling him, He should have just kept her in the loop/ His Self conscious voice of Mary blaring,"I sent those messages to you!"/ Guilty of ignoring Mary, his conviction was blatant/ He formed a web, his art. It was her face he was making/ The Silky webs painting, vaguely portraying a scream of "Sorry, This is my fault" to the girl he was dating/