Cotton has a plantation,
It’s home in central Texas.
It might be your cremation.
Don’t drive up in your Lexus.

In the barn he persecutes.
Devices of mad torture.
Chainsaws, meat hook executes,
Diced and spilt into quarters.

The Bloodbath we fascinate,
Victims face he has gotten.
Oh my, he does dominate.
****** face here’s some Cotten.

i might as well just devour you ,
now that you’ve
                           shredded my stomach
and laughed .
                        .

i never would’ve guessed
that
you
would take
a knife to my heart ,
and then rev up an engine —

a chain.

but
im sick of looking at your face ,
sick of
thinking of you ,

                           and
                                  sick of smiling
from my grave.
.

i guess we can say
you stole that from me too .

but
you are proof ,
that
even demons need to eat —

and this one
is very ,
             very
hungry.