The Crime Scene

(All right, I'll try to stay away from the emotionally charged poems. Had to try it. So here is another one I've written recently. Just give it to me straight. I hope this one is better, if not more entertaining. I broke this into seperate paragraphs to make it easier to read because it's a bit lengthy.)


Generic smell of must lingered in the room; adding a touch of vanilla. Cold linen heated; the twisted remains askew on the pillow top. Fluff flattened and broken. Multi colored bottles lay abandoned, toppled, their insides flowing into the cheap carpet; busted and broken. The walls bled purple, melting into an apple green. A naked lamp stood alone in the corner, shivering after its ordeal; too traumatized to speak to the police and was taken to the asylum.
Fleshly colored dolls lay motionless on the busted bed frame. Eyes closed, mouths closed, the secrets they held no one could access. Their computer chips shut down. Arms wrapped around the other; the criminals left a message. Sadistic and sick the dolls were forced to watch. Screams woke the residents. Blue and red lights swirled the room. The dolls were never more thankful. But the criminals got away. All traces of human removed from the room. Not even the dresser could tell them anything useful.
After hours of interrogation the police had to let the toilet go. She was clean. The sink and mirror had waited for her in the lobby. Dingy fluorescent lights bathed them in a sickly green. She cried. The police were clueless. The crime scene remained taped and tethered for the next week, before being released. It was thankful to get back to work.