- Helsing
- Aug 23, 2003
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DON'T POST IN THE ELECTION THREAD UNLESS YOU  JOE BIDEN
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I feel like it's more in the spirit of Something Awful to give somebody ample rope to hang themselves with, and so I present to you Elizabeth Wettlaufer, a registered nurse, proud mother of three cats, and amateur poet. Oh, and she's been charged with the murder of eight patients. She wrote under the pseudonym bettyweston at allpoetry.com. Please remember all poets are presumed innocent until proven guilty, so this is only the work of a potential serial killer.
These poems are about what you would expect. Some examples:
The sex life of a serial killing cat lady:
quote:
I never
I never gave in to it
the urge to experience
the urge to entwine arms, legs, skin, souls.
I watched you and yearned
but wouldn't admit
what I wanted, needed, dreamed of.
You smiled, I smiled.
Sweet conversation and pounding heart and sweaty palms all happened
but that was all I allowed myself.
Terrified to even steal a single kiss
And now I wonder why.
Why did I keep myself apart
why did I give in to so called morality
why did I let rules rule me.
Here on this bald scalped, emaciated, tortured bed
I wish.
I could have had a sweet burning memory to fill me
while life empties,
but I chose chastity
and she is a poor companion
now that most of what I feel is pained
and fading and almost finality.
As my life is measured by intravenous drops,
I yearn for the ghost of a touch
that was never conceived.
My life had no birth of passion
but now it has a death
to all and everything
and even to how I wish I had given in.
Then there's this gem which I imagine the prosecutor would very much like to read out to the jury:
quote:
Inevitable.
She watches some life drain
from the notch in his neck vein.
As it soothingly pools
it smothers her pain.
Sweet stiletto so sharp
craves another cut.
Obeying a call
she moves to his gut.
Blade traces a line
from navel to spine
grating on rib bones
slicing intestine.
Her knife sings a love song
to the splattering gore
slicing through breast bone
romancing some more.
Heart beats then sprays
as this next victim pays
her deft dagger's bill.
Does it quench her craze?
Sharp thirst recedes
as she dances in blood
satiated for now
no longer a flood.
The macabre waltz ended
her desire has been tended
by drinking the death brew
that her passion blended.
All others are safe
from obsession's greed
until she hears again
from her knife and her need.
I think this next one is more of an attempt to write an, ahem, conventional love poem. It's the closest to what you asked for, but your audience would have to be pretty drunk not to notice just how bad this is.
quote:
Do opposites detract?
My eyes sees, my heart feels.
My heart does not see
my eyes does not feel.
So where does that leave me
in this moment of steel?
My legs run, my lungs breathe
so planned, so expected,
My ears hear, my hands grab
So real, so accepted.
But what about when
these rules don't apply
what about then
is there still an I?
What if my heart runs
my eyes breathe, my lungs see
my ears grab, my legs beat
is there still a me?
What if my mind flows
my soul thinks, my blood prays?
Where am I left then,
What would they say?
Yes what will they say
when the real truth is known?
When it is found out
what I do alone?
When they catch my eyes grabbing
legs thinking, lungs praying,
when they find out the truth
Will I still be staying?
Or will them make me into a they?
Make my ears hear, lungs breathe,
soul pray.
Make me into their statue
a fake copy of me
Will inside I know
Will I still be free?
For my heart sees, my eyes beat
my lungs know to pray
My blood breathes, my mind runs
and hides
For today.
And here's a nice little easter egg for any Seinfeld fans out there:
quote:
Serenity Now
The dog at my feet
the cat on the couch
the birds in their house
they all can vouch
that tonight I am settled and calm and at home
my body is still, my mind does not roam
for a change I am tranquil, peaceful, at rest
my heart is not beating out of its chest
and even though I could not truly believe
serenity now I have shortly achieved.
I guess it's true what they say.
I don't know if any of these will suit your purpose. If your idea was to read something actually beautiful and then drop the bombshell that it was written by some kind of monster. But you wanted serial killer poetry so here you go.
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