Jack The Ripper

I’m going to paint you a picture,

it will not make you fain.

I’m going to paint you a picture,

then you’ll see the pain.

Because the picture I am painting

That will leave weak knee’s fainting,

Is none other than a talented life ender,

Otherwise known as Jack the Ripper.

When I say he’s talented I do not mean-

Mother lion that can lift her cub with dainty teeth

But that she can rip a gazelle in two.

Jack the Ripper’s talent was not for a show,

But for the grim reapers entertainment

The picture that I have drawn,

the picture is drawn in blood.

The blood belongs to the canonical five,

who now belong to the mud.

Those canonical five who belong to the ground

Lived tender life’s before they were found.

Found by the man whispered as the Whitechapel Murderer

But who obtains the true name of ‘Jack the Ripper’.

When I say that they were found I do not mean-

Clients that met them in the alleys with loose money

But the darkness that finds them in sleep.

Jack the Ripper wanted their body

But for a different manipulating task.

So, this painting I have gifted you

I hope you don’t truly see.

I hope you focus on the colours

And not the decaying tree.

I hope you cannot feel the pain of the victims

Or the pain that he felt inside. The pain

That made him rip canvases apart until he could find

A reason for later history to remember his name

And all of the pain.