In those quiet tender moments With your first cup of coffee in hand Are you a monster then? Are those horrid Insatiable Violent Maniacle thoughts racing through your head?

Because sometimes I wonder How could live with themselves? How could they think any other thought When they already know their hands will be red by nightfall? Before the day has even begun They are already in need of confession.

Throughout your morning Perhaps as you refill the coffee pot Or turn your key in the ignition Do you ever change your mind? If only for a moment Do you think that perhaps Torn bodies and dismembered minds is not the answer?

I suppose not Because before your lips even touch the cup Your hands have already left a pair of blood red prints on the ceramic handle.

Deep in the roots of the ruined city, Kayla poured her last cup of coffee. The steam poured out like the smoke of fires from the burning of bombings. The cup shook. Around the blooded wounds on her legs continued to throb and her muscles coiled in agony. Yet she sat and drank her coffee. The apparently empty pistol disregarded on the counter. “Selfish prick” she spat at the corpse of her former manager. So this was her fate, huh? To sit and wait. Sit and wait for death when she could have been home if it wasn’t for the shop being low staffed. She’d properly already be dead but at least it would be have been quicker. Now she just has to sit. The shadows reach out as she finishes the cup. Than she is left with the silence as a friend. The silence and the occasional distant gun shots. Finally, after several eternities spent on the edge of her sit, the squeaking comes. The shadow of the child shaped robot on the tricycle enters the storage room first. “About time” The child enters. It’s hands click off. Bang. Finally, the wait is over.

It’d only been 3 days since the latest homicide had reached my desk, and still I had nothing to go on. I’d been pondering the weird murder for an hour already this morning and i just couldnt see how it managed to fit into the rest of the killings. All other victims of The Barbershop Butcher had been women in their early twenties, and all of them had been employees of local strip clubs or bars in the NY area. This one though, was different. The same signs were there; a random shaved body part-normally an arm or leg, one mostly full can of shaving cream, and a red and white, barbershop pole colored razor, all left at the scene of the crime. This killing though, differed in the sense that it was an older man, roughly in his forties. With a quick sip, i noticed my coffee was way past cold and so I decided maybe it was time for a fresh cup, and a cigarette break to clear my mind before starting again. Grabbing my lighter, my coffee, and my last two smokes, I got up, pushing the chair back from my desk; a little too quickly though. Violently, my knee bumped the desk, and cursing loudly, I dropped the coffee and cigarettes onto the paperwork below “$#it” I shouted angrily, and then quickly scrambled to rescue the documents and the last of my smokes. Then, Using most of a box of tissues, I mopped up what I could from the desk, and from everything else atop it, but the stains in the paperwork were certainly permanent. I’d have to re-file them all. Still, separating them to dry, it was there my anger started to subside. One of the victims photos below, still had a bit of a puddle upon it, and in that small pool of coffee, it was there I noticed the tattoo. How had we all missed it before. Searching the next photo was where my thoughts were really confirmed though, this was it! On all the victims, in the areas they’d been shaved, the same tattoo was present. A small, upside down umbrella, with the word “Hope” weaved almost unnoticeably into it. This psycho WAS actually pointing us to the real clues all along. A quick Google search of the image showed me it was the logo for a small, private institution, not too far from me. 5 minutes later I’d found an address, and in less than 20 I was in the parking lot outside. The building was beautifully kept on it’s outside, and upon entering the lobby, it appeared even more pristine, almost like a hospital. It smelled similar too. “Can I help you” said a short, plump women, resting behind the main desk “Yes, I’m here about that logo.” I replied, pointing to a giant mural on the wall behind her. “I’d like to know why someone would find interest in getting that tattooed on themselves?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

As I reflect I must confess

Am I really the best to which I can attest

Am I slipping into darkness as I begin to rest

Or Can I live up to life’s great test

As everyone goes away

It seems like darkest paves the way

I hate to see light fade away

But in this hour what saves the day

Hope.

Hope to see my old man days

Hope to be remember in a happy way

Hope to accomplish all my dreams

Hope to not fall to greed

It’d only been 3 days since the latest homicide had reached my desk, and still I had nothing to go on. I’d been pondering the weird murder for an hour already this morning and i just couldnt see how it managed to fit into the rest of the killings. All other victims of The Barbershop Butcher had been women in their early twenties, and all of them had been employees of local strip clubs or bars in the NY area. This one though, was different. The same signs were there; a random shaved body part-normally an arm or leg, one mostly full can of shaving cream, and a red and white, barbershop pole colored razor, all left at the scene of the crime. This killing though, differed in the sense that it was an older man, roughly in his forties. With a quick sip, i noticed my coffee was way past cold and so I decided maybe it was time for a fresh cup, and a cigarette break to clear my mind before starting again. Grabbing my lighter, my coffee, and my last two smokes, I got up, pushing the chair back from my desk; a little too quickly though. Violently, my knee bumped the desk, and cursing loudly, I dropped the coffee and cigarettes onto the paperwork below “$#it” I shouted angrily, and then quickly scrambled to rescue the documents and the last of my smokes. Then, Using most of a box of tissues, I mopped up what I could from the desk, and from everything else atop it, but the stains in the paperwork were certainly permanent. I’d have to re-file them all. Still, separating them to dry, it was there my anger started to subside. One of the victims photos below, still had a bit of a puddle upon it, and in that small pool of coffee, it was there I noticed the tattoo. How had we all missed it before. Searching the next photo was where my thoughts were really confirmed though, this was it! On all the victims, in the areas they’d been shaved, the same tattoo was present. A small, upside down umbrella, with the word “Hope” weaved almost unnoticeably into it. This psycho WAS actually pointing us to the real clues all along. A quick Google search of the image showed me it was the logo for a small, private institution, not too far from me. 5 minutes later I’d found an address, and in less than 20 I was in the parking lot outside. The building was beautifully kept on it’s outside, and upon entering the lobby, it appeared even more pristine, almost like a hospital. It smelled similar too. “Can I help you” said a short, plump women, resting behind the main desk “Yes, I’m here about that logo.” I replied, pointing to a giant mural on the wall behind her. “I’d like to know why someone would find interest in getting that tattooed on themselves?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Coffees steaming hot, another day does begin. Look out the window clear skies no rain to be seen, but the streets are filled with umbrellas, held up by those protesting. Extradition to the mainland, where the innocent will never win, guilty or not the outcomes still the same, locked in a cell and the key gets thrown away. Only way out is if you play their little game, no ordinary jigsaw, sanities the price you pay

Blood drenched all over the road Tears falling going to the cheek People does not have to be bold On doing things for them to be seek

Whenever witness speaks Our heart brokes into piece Pain from humans are underrated But does this have to be debated?

Eyes speaks a hundred word Experiences that made them hurt, The only words that they utter is “help me, Lord”

Forgiveness is hard to think But Jesus does it even his at the peak. Why is it so hard to have a peace? War should have to be ceased.