Shock Value
by Lichen Throat

Let me tell you some events
I wrote in my new book.
It's set in 1828;
Won't you take a look?

Fog and mud obscure the streets,
Wrapping all in autumn chill.
Eyes are downcast; no one greets
Fellow men on Holborn Hill.
In the rag and bottle shop
Lives the greedy Mr. Krook,
Hoarding things that others drop,
Stacking papers, trash, and books.
He extorts impoverished tenants,
He’s the scourge of Lincoln’s Inn.
He will never be repentant,
Never cease his bitter grin.
Hating life without cessation,
Fed with greed and soaked in gin,
He explodes in conflagration,
Catching fire from within.

I didn’t do it for shock value;
I wrote it to expose the fires
That burn inside the greedy misers,
The evil men, the shameless liars.

From the sky the ash flakes drop;
Greasy odors fill the air,
Worse than burning mutton chops,
More than anyone can bear.
Young man on the windowsill,
Fingers drenched in yellow oil,
He has never felt so ill,
Such compulsion to recoil.
Through the door to Krook's abode,
Burnt remains upon the floor,
Finally reaping what he sowed,
Dead and gone forevermore.
Hating life without cessation,
Fed with greed and soaked in gin,
Now consumed in conflagration,
Catching fire from within.

You may tell me this can't happen,
But I say that you are wrong.
Read all 22 installments;
It's a great book, though it's long.