The Syringe Murders

This poem has a point, That is honed at it's end. For murder is most foul, So let us not pretend. Many, many horrific murders, Of men most dark and foul. Injected with deadly toxins, By a killer on the prowl. She relishes in her work, Dispatching evil at her will. For she is a learning chemist, Accessing poisons of the ill. She thrusts her needle in so deep, Injecting venoms for permanent sleep. Each victim gasps on their last breath, Administered from her syringe of death. It gives her such a moral kick, To see the evil guilty fall. For each one is a vicious rapist, And she feels no remorse at all. They never see her coming, In disguise with which her work is done. For this avenging petite woman... Innocently dressed as a Catholic nun. Copyright Shaun Cronick 2019.All Rights Reserved.