Analysis of An Insane Poetic Performance

With malice pinned to my laughter's decay
I twitch in a barbaric reflection;
fear's futile escape trapped within your eye,
and the blade glides through a tainted bouquet
that saturates this psychotic engine,
it is my pleasure to witness you die.

Your insane poetic performance wilts
as I squeeze humanity's bright colour
and savour the wild chaotic voices,
there's a plasma show which quietly lilts
as your vision quickly becomes duller,
I twist hate in your life's final sketches.

It's such a pleasant night watching this scene,
the wet moon's in a primary disguise,
it honours these moments that I relish,
fate's perversely dark humour is obscene,
but to bitter me, it holds no surprise,
I am far removed from being squeamish.

Goodbye lolls from your tongue's open curled plea,
a hint of sorrow vies for attention,
but it's dismissed as I retrieve my knife,
I'm feeling emotional, quite greedy,
there must be another broken heathen
whose dead spirit I can remove from strife.

With a jaunty step and a farewell wave
I kick your red presence with a flourish,
the time's right for someone else to suffer,
I will not accept just one victim's grave,
there needs to be more to ease this wild wish
for blood to be the night's silent author.