The first time was the hardest
The anticipation and fear
Keeping watch – a close eye
Listening through both ears.
Once I got him sedated
And his limbs loose and soft
The slicing was quite easy
He gasped, sighed, then coughed.
The colour drained from his face
And his organs all shut down
He looked rather peaceful
Apart from the slight frown.
The cutting took a while
Peeling back layers of skin
The head was the easiest
It came off, while I grinned.
I got away with that one
I still don’t know how
But the second one went to shit
I blame that blood stained towel.
All was going smoothly
Until they found him in the bin
Well, just some parts
An eyeball and a limb.
The third’s the one with the hairy
chest
But he’s still waiting for me
Maybe one day I’ll get out
But I doubt I’ll ever be free.
They say I’m a danger
To the public, and myself
They talk shit and feed me pills
To dull my mental health.
Now I lie here dreaming
About that scarlet tinted knife
And the one that got away
Still living his perfect life.
I was told I’ve a condition
Antisocial personality disorder
I would say I just like blood
And can be quite a hoarder.
The day that I get out
That son of a bitch will pay
He won’t see me coming
He’ll be looking the other way.
I’ll skin him like the others
And enjoy every second
Drowning out his cries
Until my ears are deafened.
But for now I’ll have to stay
And fantasise in my cell
But the world better get ready
I’m armed and I’ll cause hell.
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