No particular style
Something different every time
Keep them guessing. They won’t get me.
There’ll be no trial, no heavenly reward either.
Camel meet needle eye.
Lethal, evil guy,
Wiping off my bloodied knife.
Lycanthrope, I hunt by night
Rolled up in a rug
Hole dug in muck
Forward like a rook
Ain’t no fool, no Took
Smiling politely
Nobody who spies me suspects I’m the crook
Responsible for their demise. My prize their blood.
Me to worried coppers: gloating.
Won’t give up the goat
Take a left off any road
Hit a wall then keep going
A sense of unease growing
Like mould old bones coating.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment