PSYCHOPATH: ON EMOTION

A Poetic Monologue


Written By:
Sharon Harris Warrick
* All Rights Reserved *



I cannot accept the feeling that my head is solely reeling
From the vision of him kneeling with his hand upon her knee;
Surely there’s another reason for my chills, so out of season,
Than the bold, inhuman treason that my intimate showed me;

Other than my old, most trusted confidante’s betraying me.


She knew well that my affection leaned toward this man’s direction,
Of my avid predilection for this gent, so fair of face;
Did I not seek advice of her on how best to snare this lover?
Bore my soul as one to mother for her to my doubts erase?
With sole reason being that she would my doubts, my fears erase?


Heightening anger ... mustn’t heighten! I am not a one for fightin’
Former closest chums despitin’ this most hateful thing she’s done.
It’s his choice, and since he chose her, I won’t play the scorned imposer --

No real reasons to suppose her conquest a deceitful one...?
(Why do I suspect her conquest is a most ill-gotten one?)


I was stupid to befriend her! To self-hatred, I surrender.
Why should my thoughts curse, offend her? If there’s any fault, it’s mine!
Had my senses been about me, I’d have seen without a doubt -- she
Never cared about the route she took when there were men to find!
That she never worried where she looked when there were men to find!


What is this my heart proposes, at the same time blocks, opposes?
Why in my mind do the roses lie atop a lonely grave?
I would never kill a fly -- that didn’t light, that passed on by --
Why, I wouldn’t even try ... on and on, my mind, it raves!
Like a sickened maniac, my brain, it rants; my mind, it raves!


Why concern about her murder? Actually, it wouldn’t hurt her,
For her soul will soon desert her, killed by evil in her blood!
Such an act would be a trifle; such an act would merely stifle
Non-stop gabbing of the Eyeful that did steal my love, for good.
All ‘twould do: bring justice to that one who stole my love, for good.


All’s fair in war, as in romance! I, just as she, did have a chance
To solidly secure the fancy of the one I love so dear.
Too shy was I to speak my feelings -- one can’t gain a love through willing! --
Thus, what she did wasn’t stealing; he was never mine, I fear.
I can’t call it stealing, for he wasn’t ever mine, I fear.


Why do I excuse her action? That would give her satisfaction!
Feign to ignore her transaction? That would be to self-abuse!
I won’t whisper, “Oh, pooh-pooh to the girl and to him, too!”
She’ll regret this when I’m through! No more me will she misuse!
Nevermore will there be chances for this witch me to misuse!


In my mind is much confusion. So she tricked me -- vile delusion! --
Should she go to death’s seclusion just because I’m simply fooled?
Maybe she loves him as I do; maybe she felt no delight to
Steal him, one who’s pained, contrite to break all friendship’s sacred rules...
Maybe love inside her forced her to ignore such sacred rules.


It is just as likely that she feels deep contrition at
What she’s done as for a cat to outrun a thoroughbred!
She took him to prove to me that I’ll never, ever be
Half so beautiful as she ... I won’t rest until she’s dead!
Not another night of sleep will be for me until she’s dead!


But ... if we’d both been neglected; if I weren’t alone rejected;
If my pride were unaffected ... would I be so murder-prone?
If I’m honest, am I fuming for a love that’s all-consuming?
Or, is it from an exhuming jealousy that’s slowly grown?
Am I broken-hearted, or just green with envy, slowly grown?


Be it former, be it latter: grounds for justice just don’t matter.
All that truly counts is that her evil not go unexcused.
Soon, I will make her discover: where sin is, also shall hover
Death, who in the end uncovers evil, be it worked or mused.
Death will punish every act of evil, be it worked or mused.


I must think this thing through clearly ... I cannot just go and merely
Kill her, for someone might hear the cries and hurry to her aid.
I cannot risk being seen there; no one must suspect I’ve been there.
I must not leave anything there to suggest the part I played.
No one must find anything there to suggest the part I played.


I will wait ‘til night’s dark masking -- in disguise, for there’ll be asking
If perhaps a baleful, crass thing had been viewed suspiciously.
I’ll tomorrow be boo-hooing: “Who, dear friend, could think of doing
Such a thing?” Yes, I’ll be stewing, in hysterics, misery.
I will act so broken-hearted, stew as if in misery.


Lo; I see a beacon gleaming; shadows are of one who’s dreaming.
If she knew with what I’m teeming, I daresay she’d not sleep sound!
In my thoughts, a deed so awful -- and, indeed, also unlawful --
That I liken to a trough full of ill demons, hellward found.
Like a trough that’s filled with demons, ill and evil, hellward-found.


Is this I who plots such evil? I beseech my wits’ retrieval!
What will end my mind’s upheaval? I’ve become stark-raving mad!
There is not a person breathing who is worth diurnal seething,
Nor the canine-anger teething, nor this heart that aches so bad.
No one’s worth this anger nor this breaking heart that aches so bad.


Stealthing low around her dwelling ... this is not a tale fit telling! ...
I am sure she hears the knelling of my heart, loud as a gong!
Should I run? Escape, and quickly? Stumble through the dense and thickly
Landscaped lot through which I sickly came to do this dreadful wrong?
Should I go back home, forget my scheme to do this horrid wrong?


Well ... just what’s so wrong about it? Punishment is due; without it,
Would the bitch repent? I doubt it. Justice must be carried through!
Reach the door; now, ease it open. Frequent visits mean no groping
In the dark and always hoping that the noises made are few.
Lucky me -- no groping, hoping that the noises made are few.


Why-what’s that I hear? Her, snoring? Gracious! Can that be her roaring?
How can I go on ignoring that atrocious, grating noise?
Trigger-finger, strangely shaking. Steady, girl ... no time for quaking.
What? Do I hear sounds of waking? It’s the end of devilish ploys!
This will be the last time I will carry out mean, devilish ploys!


No ... she sleeps. Imagination seeks to dull the dire elation
That her well-deserved deflation no doubt will evoke in me.
To my fear I’ll pay no ne’ermind. To her room I’ll go and there find
Her; yes, I will in Death’s lair bind one whose friend I used to be.
I’ll bind in a deadly lair one whose best friend I used to be.


Looking ‘round, my brief inspection frightens me; for, her protection
Instrument’s in close connection: why, the cow sleeps with a gun!
I don’t care -- I’m going to nab her! Take revenge on the backstabber!
Why, I’ll just go now and grab her! Gag her so the scream be dumb!
I will go and grab her, gag her so the scream she screams be dumb!


Look how she smiles in her sleeping, unaware her smile is heaping
Fuel on the fire creeping within me, within her room.
Wretched, lovely, hated, beaming, unsuspecting, sweetly dreaming,
All the while that I am scheming to enact her hellish doom.
Dream on, Sleeping Beauty, as you hasten to your hellish doom!


See the gun against her temple ... how it glimmers! with a simple
Gleam mirrored aslant her dimple ... God, I hate the pretty ones:
Ones that have no competition; members of that coalition
That will not accept addition and the plainer female shuns.
She’s a member of that group who all us plainer females shuns.


As I shake off this distraction, I’m appalled at my reaction
To the physical attraction that effuses, though she sleeps.
Still, I ponder her appearance. Now, she wakes! And, near coherence,
Blinks her eyes to gain their clearance! How my heart within me leaps!
Now her eyes are open and my fearful heart within me leaps!


Nervously I stare back at her, feeling mad as Ally’s hatter,
While my pulse rate scales the ladder and my gun shakes violently.
Right away, she starts a-wailing -- naturally, then, I start yelling --
Now commences wild assailing and her thrashing of poor Me.
Gun’s a-shaking as she strikes and hits and bites and claws at me.


Why, my friend?” she sobs and bellows. “We were just the best of fellows!
Thirteen years’ good-byes and hellos ... all boil down to homicide?
What could be your thought behind this? You were always just the kindest!
Well, you’ve clearly lost your mind, miss, else with liquor you’ve been plied!
You have either gone plumb crazy, or with whiskey you’ve been plied!”


Well! That rash insinuation that I’ve chugged some strong libation
Sparks my rage and the sensation that I’ve from my body flown!
Resolute, infuriated, anger not the least abated,
Pointing, aiming that ill-fated bullet, cleaving skin from bone.
I first point, then aim that karmic bullet, rending skin from bone.


Momentarily off balance, I grab hold a nearby valance,
Floraled fabric of which shall henceforth display my hand in blood.
She, unharmed (regardless, screaming), watches crimson waters streaming
From a wound which I am deeming to be fatal, from the flood.
I assume my self-inflicted wound is fatal, from the flood.


What an error! What a blunder! Such a faux pas makes you wonder
That my birth perhaps came under some deep, dark, portentous cloud!
Are there any other willing idiots who planned a killing
That resulted in them sealing their own souls within a shroud?
Are there others like me who have sealed themselves within a shroud?


Now I mourn for years I wasted, fruits of life I left untasted.
I’m too late; it’s time I faced it: I’ve not gotten very far.
Spending days in lone self-pity, envious of those thought pretty,
Lusting after all the witty speeches of the popular.
I have wasted days and years in envy of the popular.


In my final, fading minutes, I confess to you my sin: it’s
Jealousy, a danger when it’s nourished, tended, nurtured, fed.
And my friend (who now has fainted) will continue life untainted
While I infiltrate that sainted population of the dead.
She’ll live on, and “jealous me” goes off to that land of the dead.


- The End -


(Author's Note: Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” inspired the rhyme scheme for this poem.)