They were cut into bloody chunks
Just raw hunks of meat and bone
With flesh hanging in sinewy strands
Dripping putrid gore…
All stacked nice and neat
Around the borders of a mind
Closed from all view other than massacre.
They deserved it.
The mind cried rotten green fingers
From blood-shot eyes
Knowing just one thing…
They deserved it.
The mind spit blood
On them in contempt
Their own blood
Spit
Upon sadistic smirks and laughter.
The mind peeled back eyelids
With surgical precision
So that they could see
Their death upon the minds death
Upon their death…
But they would never look
Past the cornea.
Walking death.
The mind strolls midday
Concealing disease
Coughing out shyly
Rancid bits of elbow and scalp
Into a fancy lace monogrammed hankie
But…
By midnight the mind returns for more rearranging
More chopping
More axing of body parts into smaller pieces
To be shaken free from nostril and ear
As the mind walks down the darkened path
Leaving a trail of mushy decomposed toes, labia, and vertebrae
To find the way back home.
They deserved it.
They all deserved it.
The mind rests at night
On a bed of spines
Snuggling pillows of brain matter
And blankets of flesh
The nightmares never cease
For they laugh in the face of murder.
©Jen2010 1–25