the smell of metal hit the air
permeating eight flights of stairs
door opened just a smidgen
and on the fridge, hands of crimson
walls coated thicker than paint
hundred twenty red pounds minus eight
eight brick red pounds, gone from the room
my partner and I searched all afternoon
one skinned body, open legs lay
next to three others on display
just one missing maroon ball
not found, puzzling us all
burgundy knives strewn on the floor
no trace of other implements in store
no tape, or rope on the slain
tells our brain of one man's reign
maroon pools upon the floor
continuing our cringing even more
just then the call came in
one nut job found, wearing a second skin