I Write Poetry

I don't need any strong or intense feelings of joy or happiness.
I am perfectly content with the small joys of life.
I do not wish to bother you or your friends.

Around me, is a mirage, an illusion of flint and steel.
It calls to me, begging to be dominated by my hand.
The world suffers under my cold unyielding guidance.

I don't need any feelings of intense sadness or pain.
I am perfectly content with the small joys of life.
I do not wish to bother you or your family.

But I know in this world man is not to be without his pleasures.
They are frivolous in nature and serve only to beguine and entrance me.
You people disgust me with your meaningless lives.

I don't need any feelings of intense stress or anxiety.
I am perfectly content to live a quiet life.
I do not wish to kill you.

But I cannot help feeling, you are without guidance.
Caught in the web of the world, pulling you ever which way.
Come. Let us see, if I can supplement your life with meaning.

I will live sweetly in this mirage. Without trouble.
Covering every track flawlessly and with fastidious care.
Adjusting to the artificial aroma of air freshener.

There are seventeen corpses buried in my garden.
Sometimes I invite people over, just for the thrill of knowing they could catch me.
The extra workload is tough, better take a sick day.

The end
(Fiction btw. Just sayin.)