A Murmur In Decrepit Wits - Aborted

Slithering fantasies of cleaning bones
Lucid dreams
Yearning to become real
The luscious slitting of throats
What fantasy
These fictions so corporal so obtuse
Restricting me
Frustrating me
The fictions so morbid seem foretold
Digging in the psyche
No theory
No medication
No session
Can shed light upon the monster I am told to become
No theory
No medication
Obsession
The smell of blood
The soothing of the pain mine
A medical condition
No
Merely purpose
Decrepit wits in a mind mine
These fictions so corporal so obtuse
Restricting me
Frustrating me
The fictions so morbid seem foretold
Release the rage in me
Set in motion the first kill
Adrenaline
Rushing me
The fictions so morbid fulfilled
Release the real in me
Swing the axe
Hang the rope
The tales of my coming painted in a spree of gore
Do say your prayers
They shall be answered
By the cutting of blades as your insides are drained
No longer murmurs in thy decrepit wits
A spree of murder unleash my insanity
Meticulous plan
The fruition of years of mental disorder
A spree of terror
The canvas of decay
Left behind for them to find
In perspicuity
Murmurs whisper to me
Slithering fantasies of cleaning bones
Lucid dreams
Yearning to become real
The luscious slitting of throats
What fantasy