Little Johnny boy sat up in his bed, morbid thoughts throbbing in his head,

Death and pain warped his mind, disturbed thoughts undefined,

He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote down his thoughts once again,

A story of untold horrors was the product of this, with tales of chaos and terror amiss,

And it was only meant for the young boy's eyes, for who would want to read of taken lives,

Johnny wrote the day away, soon his mother came to say:

"Johnny, my dear, go outside and play!" But the little boy refused and begged to stay,

Through all his pleads to stay inside, he left from the dark where he would hide,

And as he built his little sand moat, his mother walked in and read everything he wrote,

By the time Johnny came back in the house, his mother’s tears had soaked her blouse,

She wailed and screamed, forbidding him to write, and he cried and sobbed until he lost all sight,

He denied her wishes and she grounded him then, he wasn’t permitted any paper or pen,

So as he sat alone in his room, he wallowed in self pity and gloom,

And he just sat and thought about his mother’s speech, he realized the truth had just been reached,

He had to make a life changing choice, his mind told him in a mocking voice:

"Upset his mother, an act he abhorred, or give up writing, a thing he adored?"

Johnny couldn’t help it but sob about his life, he didn’t want an office job; he didn’t want a wife,

He wanted to write of death and excruciating pain, and homicidal people who were completely insane,

So what if his writing wasn’t so nice? The things he wrote he wouldn’t think over twice,

So why was it so wrong, why didn’t his mother care? Was this private talent not even there?

So Johnny promised his mother he would never write again, but even with this promise his morbid thoughts never end,

And although he hasn’t touched a paper since that day, he still dreams of death in a most deranged way.

By Anne Bourguignon