I once knew of a peculiar man,
He was quite tall and thin,
A face round and pale but his arms were tan.
Rancid cigarettes reeked upon his breath and skin.
A receding hairline it appeared as if he shined his bald head,
Carrying a poisonous satchel his insanity he tried to rid,
Clues upon the next day he began to shed,
His deranged mind drifted further away in a guilty bid.
He began to age as his skin grows old in each decaying breath,
His hands were getting cold disposing of all the pieces,
Visions of casualties in his mind about death,
Waiting for the moment that ceases.
He lacked a personality,
Though he presented himself in a way that was very perverse,
With vibes of negative energy that were retaliatory,
It seemed that he was cold hearted and murderous.
Without his company I would prefer,
I envisioned him once being in shackles,
He obtained the look of a child molester,
When his eyes were hidden behind his bi-focals.
Creepiness was his only asset,
A snake in the grass; he was cowardice,
His deceitful ways reflects,
From a criminal mind but useless.
I could see the lies within his brown teeth,
Selfish he was preoccupied with himself,
He had idle hands from the dark pits beneath,
But his deeds performed by everyone else.
Edward Strange was a man that no one hardly knew,
Who spent most of his days anticipating his own fears he apprehends,
Daring to grasp his anxiety as it broke into,
Soon to die by his own hands.