He who deceives, who's not one word should you believe,
crawling through the dust he rambles, to hide the truth
he scrambles, barely making it out in shambles,
like a killer on the run. Undercover, a clear disguise,
secretly plotting ones demise, as victim walks
and doesn't realize, there's a killer on the run.
A ghastly, ghostly killer, who his victims he does taunt,
but now the ways of ghastly creature come back
to him to haunt. As his stories lose substance, words
go astray, making him more of a suspect each second
of the day, as the truth is almost visible he remains
on the edge of his seat, as he tries to restrain, the
true meaning of speech which now he refrains, from,
like a killer on the run.
Like a man with bloody hands he does choke,
on the words with double meaning that he spoke,
the words that now leave him with no hope, like a
killer on the run. The jury will say he's guilty,
a lawyer's prediction, for his words have formed
his hand cuffs which are now his restriction,
his words are ones of those with a murder addiction,
like a killer on the run. Though he played it all off as fiction,
confirming the lawyer's prediction, the jury has sealed the fate,
and conviction of a killer once on the run.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.