“Twas The Night Before Christmas” – Poetry


A murderous rewrite of the original “Twas The Night Before Christmas”.

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

But in the children’s room hiding under their beds,

Was a seasonal Psycho looking to chop off their heads;

And mamma in her nighty, and papa in his cap,

Had no idea they were falling into the Psychos trap,

Our psycho you see, was mad as a hatter,

He only wanted to watch the blood make a splatter.

Out from under the bed, he appeared in a flash,

And with his wood axe he made the first slash.

The small child was instantly killed by the blow,

His head rolled down to the carpet below,

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,

The other child sleeping soundly, without worry or fear,

He raised the axe again, and the child’s death was quick,

He looked down at the head, and gave it a kick.

Sooner than our Psycho expected, the parents then came,

And they screamed and shouted, as our Psycho tried to explain;

“Now, please! Just listen! I have an addiction!

It’s the blood you see, there is no description!

I love its color and texture, I like watching heads fall!

And now I will kill you, your neighbors and all!”

Papa reacted quickest, down the hall he did fly,

Where he was meet with an obstacle, another bad guy,

And from his pocket our second psycho then drew,

A large hunting knife, all shiny and new.

This psycho was planning to slice the victims neck,

But papa ran down the stairs and out to the front deck.

Our psycho was quicker this time around,

And he caught the papa before he could utter a sound.

Papa fought back, kicking the intruder with his bare foot,

But into papa’s chest that shiny knife psycho did put;

Over and over psycho stabbed and attacked,

Until papa laid still and stopped fighting back.

Pstchos eyes –how they twinkled! The sight of red made him merry!

And back inside the house papa’s corpse he did carry!

The first psycho was busy watching mamas blood flow,

Out her headless neck, as a blood puddle did grow;

He had an idea, and as he thought he mashed his teeth,

He would place her head in the center of the front doors wreath;

He kicked her head down the stairs, hitting his friend in the belly,

They laughed together, shaking like a bowlful of jelly.

They positioned the head, giggling at their display,

And to the next house they went without delay;

They entered one through the window, one through the door,

Soon the neighbors heads would too be rolling on the floor;

They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,

Finding hiding spaces for each of them to lurk,

This family too died when our psychos knife and axe rose,

They never knew that in their house were two dangerous foes;

Once the entire neighborhood laid dead, the two began to whistle,

And they disappeared from the area as quick as a missile.

The two left a message behind, written in red against white,

“A Bloody Christmas to all, and to all a killer-night.”


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