Devoid of malicious intent
Just a mindless wanderer
Pushed and pulled by criminal impulses
Pulsating
Compulsive
An endless cycle of peaks and troughs
A perpetual rise and fall of weakness and will
Is this an illness, or nothing more than a product of the human condition?
A chasing of the wind
Just pissing in the wind
Bathed in the stench of repeated offences
Enrobed with the reek of decay
A convict digging up corpses of past victims to kill again
Is this an illness, or nothing more than a product of the human condition?
A chasing of the wind
Just pissing in the wind
From blood to dust and back again
Stabbing, strangling putrefying flesh
The recidivist retracing steps erring both left and right
Yet there's no end in sight
Deeper
Further
To the very heart of darkness
Deeper
Further
And further still
