placing my fingers on my sternum,
I crack myself open,
a fresh orange,
sweet juice dripping down my fingers.

She is a good butcher

The knife steady in her hand,

Although she’s never quite gotten the knack

For hacking in one swing.

Tried once and hit bone – elicited screams.


Prefers instead to slice carefully

Weighs each cut of the knife

Watches the blood well up

Saliva pooling in response.


His pretty little ears she nibbles on

Followed by his lips she samples at every moment

Even his nose she presses kisses to.


There’s so little fat to him

Just how she likes.

When she gets too hungry to wait

Sinks her teeth into the definition of his pectoral

Rips away the muscle chewing gleefully.


He is a rich source of protein

Her body has been craving.

Finds what is so often boasted between the legs of men

no delicacy at all as some treat it.


Loves to lap at his iliac crests

Wear down to his bones and crack them between her teeth

**** the slick, nutritious marrow.


Finds a certain contentment

In the consuming focus

The preoccupation of her hands, mind, and mouth.

You talk about your past lovers like cuts of meat;
The ******* on this one, the thick thighs on that one, the firm *** on the other.
You call them Chicken, Cow, Pig.
You call me Dear.

I walk into your abattoir  of my own accord
and tie myself to the gambrel,
ask you to slaughter me, please, slaughter me.
Always the slaughterer, never the slaughtered,
I want to know what it feels like.

You do as I ask: strip away my skin, slice open my chest, remove my vital organs.
You have to separate my consciousness
from my carcass
to finish.

I am venison, fresh.
You mount my head on your wall
next to the others and
shut my eyes.

Steel seams once welded
safety torn and matted
scattered among the blood

I waited, perched
facing the pound
silhouettes of people dance

Lights of blue flash next to red
hurried bodies take in the flesh
torn and matted among the blood

Pebbles tossed create ripples
one action has lingered effects
silhouettes and shadows dance

As I wait,
uniforms investigate, the damage
the glass shards mingle among ****** hair
the scent of burning floats aware

I turn to the breeze
Imaging your hair twined to the wind, dancing
I wait for your embrace
but you never came

Endless nights are passing, shadows lurking upon one another, one of greater darkness than the other, just waiting for pray alike a spider,
Fingernails possessed by a woman, sharper than knifes, almost alike claws they are an ornament to her delicate looking sweet body,
Her ****** devotion, driving her mad in a moment of distraction from deep within her split mind, time stands still, meaning is lost,
What's left to hunt in a place in which a monster causes rampage ?
Wasting no time, she seeks her next victim, drenched in impurity.
Approaching it the girl pretends to be gentle, caring yet worried but in truth she had only one plan, to feed of its despair, its infinite pain,
With crimson tears of both joy and fear of what she had become, the gal greets it to the end of its already shortened life after she gained trust, respect, maybe even a little love in this blazing hell with no sun,
Knocking it over she ramms her nails into the flesh of his face, piercing through while making sure he is not able to gain any motion,
Softly, in a slow cruel yet elegant manner she rips off chunks of it,
A distorted scream fills the room, laughter accompanies it as she loses herself to this waving melody of pain, questioning wheter or not to be replaced by the transience they have named life, or wether to live on,
As soon as he stops screaming she cuts through his cheek, getting stuck, breaking away her nail to set her hand free once again,
Nine knifes remain in there after all, surely that would be enough,
Clapping her hands in glee her next motive was a skillful punch to knock him out after her satisfaction of ruining his face had reached its peak in a riot of unexplored, absolutely undefined emotions,
Awaiting the awakening of her pray the lunatic sharpens her nails once again, now they would go on to the second act of her crime,
Tortured with true or false of this action she decides to take a stand
*******, simply to draw on the blood drenched body with cutting marks of the finest lines in an art of lunacy, a nightmare,
Recurrance in emotions, recurrance in her actions, for her it's "fun",
Act 3 has come close, it was time to rip him open and reveal his treasure, for what she actually wanted was a heart she never had,
Straight cutting to the mans chest it had been done, all what was needed now would be to break his rips to fully expose his insides,
Ah, phantoms of a long past, as the present burns away with cuts,
The symbol of hatred had achieved her final destiny, at last that is,
Each ***** was either ripped off and thrown out in fury or devoured immediately in her hunger she felt whilst working,
Hanging him by his guts she takes everything out till he is hollow,
Lifeless she watches him rot a little, having crushed his bones,
What was left when time is moving once again in a realm of light ?
Her crime goes unrecorded, unnoticed as the corpse became fuel for the fire alike hell, until her twisted mind drags her to do this again

~ Umi