The Laughing Man
by William Morgan
The woods were dark, the moon was full,
My laugh was manic, my knife was dull,
My prey was running, looking back in fear,
My laugh was unbalanced, my face a leer,
She tripped on a root, squealed like a pig,
My laugh was demented, as I danced a wee jig,
She begged, pleaded, screamed out of her skull
My laugh was psychotic, my knife was still dull
She punched, she clawed, fought like a lion,
My laugh was orgasmic as she lay dyin’
She gasped her last, her life was done
My laugh was bitter, she’s not The One
