He turned around and looked at me
And his vision made me sick
So I ****** his eyes out of his skull
And skewered them on a stick

Roasted on an open flame
Turning evenly to toast
Hoping as his pupils pass
It's me he sees the most

Tongue chewed from within his face
No screams of discontent
He tried to say, "you're beautiful"
But lies on the tongue ferment

His rancid meat is useless
So I feed it to the worms
Now, wasted words are gasps for air
And no longer my concern

He tried to write, "I'm sorry"
With fingers drenched in blood
So I chopped them into pieces
And spread them through the neighborhood

So as I whispered in his ear
Of all his evil ways
I saw that bitter molten tube
Grow solid as it swayed

So I ground it into sausage
While it was still attached
And wondered, quite in passing,
Why unto me he chose to latch

So here we are me and my feast
And him bleeding on the ground
As buzzards rend the flesh from bone
With me laughing at the sound