I Too Can Create Desolation

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The cops couldn’t find you.
They knew about the people you’d killed,
All your victims chopped up,
Strangled,
Shot,
Burned.

They told me you didn’t have a motive,
That you were a monster,
Without feelings,
Tormenting for torment’s sake.

You killed my mother,
And my sister,
Made their last moments an unending bout,
Of Misery and Fear,
Because you enjoyed it.

But therein,
Lies a contradiction.

To enjoy something,
Implies you have feelings,
You are more human,
Than people give you credit.

They couldn’t find you,
Said you were a phantom,
A ghost,
A demon,
Hiding in the shadows,
Free to do as you pleased.

You made them fear you,
Shocked the good men,
Into silence and inaction.