Candy is his and yours,

we don't know what happens

behind his doors.

Big yellow van he drives,

making laughs changes lives.

Paint on his face,

tricks in his case.

The love for children almost too much,

people say he's psycho and such.

He comes to his family at home,

the streets are a daily roam.

Sticks a knife in his plate,

and gets sick from the food he ate.

In the bathroom walls can't speak,

in the bathtub nothing will leak.

A drain filled with crusty blood,

dried to the walls, telling a story

of it all.

Buries them out back,

in a big old cotton sack.

He sleeps like a baby.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

john wayne gacy, poem about him.

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