Murder in the first

They said he was a horrible man
That killing him would be a blessing
A delight
Then why does it feel so wrong
His crimson blood staining these boots
Like spatter art over the walls
He was beautiful
My perfect canvas
And I
I became kandinsky
Using objects to my disposal
To create my masterpiece
But his screaming
Was so loud
As if this pain
Was a new feeling
Like he had never hurt a soul
And i was recreating silence of the lambs
I was a professional
While he, he and his flintlock pistol
Had been as amateur as the knife he wielded
What did i do?
I killed a man
No i created art
No i played god
And he was my blessing

This poem is about: 
Our world


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