Strange how the mind shifts
to raw skullduggery,
when things take a turn
to bad, on the brink;
Looking for clues
where before there was laughter:
Did they close their eyes
just to hide the blink?
Was that a reference
to a sport he indulges,
or just an expression
let go on the fly;
The gut feelings wrench
in the clutch of depravity-
That if it exists,
it indeed gives no sign.
The true psychopath can't really tell you
When he's switched on the power and cut the thinking;
He can only go by your tremor and twitch.
So don't give a sign that you know now he's sinking-
Just find your own way to get out of there quick.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem