Over The Edge Poem by Don Longshore

The doctors think they can treat me;
Give me chemicals, alter my brain.
They don't understand that I don't feel pleasure, only pain.
I've been told I killed sixteen, but I'm pretty sure there's more;
The open dirt in the yard gave count,
They didn't check next door.

My skin prickles with the thought
Of auburn hair, fair skin, and lace
Of laughter, shrieks, and glints of steel;
No more humor in that face.

I don't do it for joy or some sexual thrill,
Only to quiet the sound
That the human brain makes ‘til it's thirst is slaked
And I'll die here…cuffed and bound.