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A Criminal Is Born

A Criminal Is Born


(Dark Thoughts Series, Book 1)



by Innocent Mwatsikesimbe




A Criminal Is Born


Shakespir Edition


Copyright © Innocent Mwatsikesimbe, 2016



Image Credits: Knife image sourced from Wikimedia (uploaded by ProjectManhattan)


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The crimes in this book are meant to entertain, and are not encouraged or endorsed in any way.


All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and it may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.





Broken in places you can’t repair

The hunter is unleashed

Let the work begin

The joke

Safety wheels off

Mrs. Smith

Music to my ears

Licking wounds

No loose ends

My name is





This book is a collection of 10 poems that tell the story of how a doctor loses touch with the real world and normalcy. He transitions to being a criminal and assumes a new role in life.


A Criminal Is Born was inspired by curiosity for the most part, and so was the Dark Thoughts Series as a whole. I was curious to see if I could mix poetry and crime fiction together in a way that gives a unique reading experience. If you like reading poetry and crime fiction then you’ll enjoy this book.


I titled this book “A Criminal Is Born” because it expresses the origins of this particular criminal; how he chose to be the way he is. When designing the cover, I wanted simplicity as well as a gripping and memorable first impression.


The most challenging part about writing this book was to put myself in the mind of the criminal, and say and do things in line with his deviated character. Writing this book also taught me the extents to which our minds can be distorted, in terms of thinking and doing evil.


I am venturing in uncharted waters with this book. I’ve written crime fiction and poetry separately before, but mixing the two genres is a first for me. I must say that I am enjoying it and I am excited about the follow-up books in the series. I hope you enjoy reading this book.

[] Broken in places you can’t repair



Even doctors need doctors



“Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten… Now you’re in a deep sleep.”


I breathe in and out, calmly.


“So tell me, what do you see?”


I see a bed

And a young lady is on it.

She’s tied to the bed frame.


Flesh cutting,

Blood spewing,

A face in pain.



Getting louder with each stab.


He snaps his fingers,

And snaps me out of it.

I can see it in his eyes:

He’s shocked, terrified even,


Of the evil I think of.

Downright rattled and concerned

About the fallout I’m on the brink of.


Dark thoughts creep

Into my mind.

The devil’s venom seeps

Into my veins.

And into my brain.


Dark thoughts

Of a warped mind.

Of crying, and bleeding,

Of dying and

What nots.


Is it because I’m a doctor

And I see death and blood so often?

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it’s not proper.

Maybe I should go out and have fun more often.


Why do I like it when my injections hurt?

Why does a patient’s suffering make me hesitate treatment?


Why do I dream of sinking boats

And people leaving bodies behind?

Why do I enjoy their helplessness and despair?

Is my mind broken, in places you can’t repair?

[] The hunter is unleashed



I find my life’s purpose



Shrink says I should come back,

But I doubt if that’ll change anything.


You can’t change nature.

A sheep is a sheep

And a lion is a lion.


We can’t all be meek.

Some hide while some seek.

That’s how the game goes.


It’s survival of the fittest.

The hunted run,

The weak prays, but

The hunter preys.


I mean, where’s the fun

In living together in peace, as the preacher says?


I eat meat,

And my meat eats grass,

And the grass eats of the earth,

Which will eat me when my time is up.

That’s the cycle of life.


I’m tired of pretending to like grass.

Tired of fighting the urge to bite some bloody meat.

I can no longer smile and hide my teeth,

And bate the desire to bite the hand that feeds me.


I roar, deep and

Birds fly away.

I feel the vibrations throughout my body, and

I feel alive.


Adrenaline released,

The hunter is unleashed.

[] Let the work begin



It feels like coming back to work after a long vacation



The weekend is over

And it’s back to work.

Old job, but new job description.


I creep up to the door,

And peep inside.

He’s in there, all alone,

A Bible by the bedside.


I go in, and

Close the door behind me.

The room is quiet,

And his breathing loud,

And uniform.



I pick the Bible up.

“So which verse should I look up, sir? Any last words?”


I flip pages,

And shut it.


The God of all ages

Put you here for a reason.

Some take a bow,

And some get booed of stages.

You’ve now come to the end of your act;

The end of your season.


I extend my hand

And flip the switch,

And close the curtains

On the son of a bitch.


The room is now silent.

Dead silent.


No longer on life support,

His body dies like his mind has.


I marvel at the genius debut that this mind has

Concocted, and switch the machine back on after a long while,

And then creep out of the room like nothing happened.


I feel good, not bad.

No remorse, and no guilt,

Yet I’ve just killed.


His death is my birth.

The beginning of my new life.

[] The joke



We hear it everyday, all the time, yet most don’t get it



Saving lives felt okay,

But taking a life is an addictive high.

I used to work all day

Doing all I could to delay

The inevitable.

Helping people to avoid saying goodbye.


I don’t know why

People wish to stay.

It’s a messed up world, beneath the sky.

There’s always a price to pay,

To live some more today

And pretend you’ll never see the day you die.


The fuel tank has a hole

And we fill up the gas at every stop,

On a journey to nowhere.


Like rats on a wheel,

We run and run.

Running to the end, and

Running from the truth.


Life is a joke

And I seem to be the only one with a sense of humor.


I sent someone to his grave today.

He probably gets the joke by now.


Watch the crowd pave the way:

Hoping they get it somehow,

I am the comedian, sharing my humor

With unfortunate souls.

[] Safety wheels off



Taking it to the next level



It’s time to recap.

There’s the man on life support,

The operation that “failed” to fix a heart,

The kidney that “wasn’t” compatible,

The inexplicable death after “successful” treatment.


I’m getting tired of these safe murders.

These legal kills.

I want something that gets my blood pumping;

Something that thrills.


Just like a child done with learning how to ride a bike,

It’s time to take off the safety wheels.


I should stop preying on the helpless

And go for something that puts up a fight.

I should take whatever little hope is left in the hopeless,

And take a whole lot more from those who think they’ve got it right.


It’s time to go for the real hunt.

It’s time to go for the real deal.

It’s time to go

For the real kill.

[] Mrs. Smith



The six year old kid abducted from the park



“Please help me find my son!”

Arrgh, it makes me sick.


Your son?

Nothing is ever ours, dear.

Nothing but death and fear.


These are things no one can take from you.

That no one can save you from.


I go down to the basement.

He’s still hogtied.

He looks weak and pale,

He’s very tired.


I force him to sit on a chair,

While whistling a tune, without a care.

His face toward the camera,

He sits and stares.


At me.

At my hands.


It’s early morning.

I beat the sun to get up.

Mrs. Smith and her worried face haunted me all night.


Baseball bat in hand,

I beat her son up

Just to hear him cry.

Just a little cheering up

Before I let him die.


I give a smile to the camera

My mouth showing out a mask,

And I give it all I’ve got:

One blow to the temple.


His skull fractures with a loud crack

His blood splatters all over my back,

As the swing’s power had me facing the other way.

I stop the recording, clean up and send the video his mother’s way.

[] Music to my ears



Who knew that sound can bring so much pain



My latest victim is a teacher.

For one who teaches other people to be smart

You sure are dumb.


I bought one drink for the teacher,

Told her she looked good and sounded smart

And voila!

All her senses went numb.


Literally and figuratively.

Now she’s waking up to my voice.

She keeps hearing it,

She has no choice.


Playing at near maximum volume,

Is a minute long description

Of how I’m going to kill her,

And it’s on repeat.

Her eyes are blindfolded

And her hands are tied to her feet.


Used it for music practice,

So the room is soundproof.

Yell and scream all you want,

But no one is going to hear you.


No one except me of course,

I love the pain in your voice.


It’s day two of the torture

And she knows the recording by heart now.

Every word and every nuance in tone.


I take a knife and wave it near her,

The look on her face says she knows what’s coming.

I turn the volume up, so I don’t hear her,

And do as I said I would, thousands of times already.

[] Licking wounds



When prey fights back



The teacher is finally dead.

I put the knife under the tap

And the sink fills with red.


My heart fills with joy

As if I’ve done a charitable deed.


I feel my lust sink.

It had been a while

Since my last fix.


Cops had been too expectant,

Ever since the mysterious disappearance

Of Mrs. Smith’s kid.

So I had to lay low.


Ironically though,

The teacher taught me something:

The hunted isn’t always meek.


She put up quite a fight,

Even though the stabs had sealed her fate.


Fifteen to her upper body and

About the same to her lower body.


I’d removed the hogties,

And the blindfold.

To see her squirm.

To see her eyes

When she realized

That her life was slipping away.


Like the eyes of

A person falling twenty stories to her death, or

A person tied to the tracks, watching the train coming.





The fear of death.


The bitch scratched my arms,

And peeled my skin off.

I put the wounds to my mouth:

The lion licks his wounds.


I put her wounds to my mouth

And lick some blood off.

[] No loose ends



Taking care of unfinished business



I study his routine.

He goes home to his wife, everyday after work,

Except Fridays.


He calls booty in,

Sits on his patient’s couch, and watches her twerk.

That’s his Friday.


And my day.

What better chance than this?

When no one knows his whereabouts for sure.


So I intercept, one Friday night.

Just as he arrives,

Before his call girl arrives.


I knock and tell him it’s me.

He opens the door and lets me in.

For a shrink, he sure can’t read minds well.


I stab him in the heart, twice, and well;

Let’s just say his DNA will be found on every item in his office,

Even the ceiling fan and the bottom of his small fridge.

I left a simple hide and seek game for the police.


I want no loose ends,

For police to pull at,

So I steal my files:

For they expose my “loose screws.”


And I destroy all the others,

To make the crime’s motive less obvious.


I leave,

And leave it to the girl to notice

What’s left of his body, and call the police.

[] My name is



Just the mention of my name should bring fear



If there is a creator,

There must be a destroyer.

Black accompanies white,

Hate coexists with love,

Pain contrasts with pleasure.


I am in the shadows

Of graveyards and mortuaries.


I’m the quickest ride to

The end of the road.

The shortest breath to

The final breath.


I am the darkest of all dark hours.

Hearts stop and eyes close when I flex my powers.

They buy coffins and shop for flowers,

When I strike.


I am like…




What am I like?


Every villain needs a name

And my name is…

Grim Reaper.



Grim Reaper.

That’s a keeper!




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Innocent Mwatsikesimbe

A Criminal Is Born

  • Author: Innocent Mwatsikesimbe
  • Published: 2016-04-14 16:35:09
  • Words: 2308
A Criminal Is Born A Criminal Is Born