The Mist Of Intensity Poem by Theorem The Truth Serum

The bell jingles signaling the entrance
of a short and stocky fellow.
There is something peculiar about this man.
His brown eyes burn with the flames of war.
His legs pound at the ground clumsily
and his shoes are a bit squeaky.
His hair is a mangled dying mesh
and he smells of rotten fish.

Who injected him with this poisonous mind?
Who would want this poisonous mind?

The store owner looks at him with skeptic eyes
that take breaks to skim through the pictures in the magazines.
The man gets closer and closer and
it seems that a mist of intensity is starting to build up.
The man puts his hands in his pockets
and that was when the owner pounced on his shotgun.
'what are you doing there? '
'getting my wallet, sir.'
He takes out his wallet and asks for a pack of lights.
The service robot hands him it and that was
when the man put a Beretta to his dome piece.
'money too.'
He got the money shot everyone in sight
while leaving a trail of blood with a smile.

Who builds up their lives to do such a thing?
How can this person do such a thing?

The mist of intensity dissipated leaving a lifeless scene behind.
Those who think about such acts should just take a moment
and ask themselves realistically what would this accomplish.
Hopefully they still have a bit of sense packed away somewhere.
We are all angels whether we are still standing or if we have fallen.

Always think everything through.