Oh, how joyous are these bare, open wounds,
The sweet red from mutilated flesh.
So luscious in the glowing full moon,
As the soul departs to take a rest.
He howls loudly as he begs releasement.
But I whip him, uncaring of his pleas.
Soon his flesh will rot––I laugh––and the dent
Placed I, crushing into a pulp his knees
To end, he cries for fear and agony,
As I plunge my blade into his center.
Soon his entrails will spill in the alley,
Which are soon to be my tasty dinner.
I reach down to grab and snag a few bites,
And carry on my nice, quiet, dark nights.
i love you
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