The Psyche Of Mine

Gore

In his mind,
He is god.

The persona of the mighty.

He is not the devil,
Just a guy called James.

To him,
People must die,
For his world to rejoice,
As it once did.

He selected his preys.

Those who were alone,
Whom no one would care to miss,

They were the perfect targets.

He started by stalking.

Methodically going about his gore.

The first victim:

Helen.

Oh she was a sweet one.

Quite bloody too.

It was a mess to clean up after.

The stabs on her back,
They were fine.

It was the knife to the throat,
That coloured him crimson.

Her fat,
Made perfect for soaps.
Who said you can't be a clean murderer?

And her muscular scraps,
Good for compost.

Only the skeleton remained.

The second victim:

John

He was a vile paedophile.
Need I say more?

He got what was coming to him,

Maybe next time,
He will think twice before,
Abusing children.

First to go?
His fingers.
All chopped off,
The veins still stringy,
The bone still visible.
And stuffed down the throats,
Of screaming John's family.

Then the limbs.
Hard to separate from the body,
But a chainsaw did the trick.
Blood splatter's everywhere,
Oh well, that can be cleaned up.

It's quite hard to chew the tendons.
The veins make as noodles.
His kids almost choked on them.

I guess James decided,
To make cannibalism his form of justice.

His wife forced to eat,
Her husbands uncooked heart,
While it let out blood one last time.

The third victim:

Linda

Her head was dismembered,
Her limbs pulled out of the sockets.

Her eyes,
Already spooned out.

Her tongue cut,
With her mouth sewn shut,
Whilst full of blood.

Her fingers were broken,
They looked almost abstract.

Bruises painted her body purple.

Her body dumped in the river near by,
Where she had company,
From a sweet woman, named Helen.

Johns head,
The only part left of him,
Stared at the water,
Turning red.

The fourth victim:

Boyd

He punched nails in his arms,
And a knife to the gut.
His foot cut off,
And half his face burned.

He probed one eye,
And super-glued,
The other shut.

He shaved his head,
Made incisions all across,

Stuffed his head in a claw trap,
And saw his head squashed open.

Brain matter flew everywhere.

This was going to be hard to clean up.

He dumped Boyd in a dumpster,

The garbage collectors,
Destroyed all evidence for him.

All victims dead,

Parts of them kept in jars.
As a memorabilia.

James was happy.
He felt euphoric.

Finally,
One accomplishment.
Something he started,
And finished.
Or atleast reached a pause.

~CRosOver