A collecters tale
Meat and flesh,
A macabre truth.
The skin is fresh,
Pressed in, a tooth,
Sinew and muscle,
Hanging, poised to dry.
In the corner, a tendon,
And beside it, an eye.
In the middle, a man,
Who is masquerading,
Dancing and masturbating.
Holding up his hands,
On tissue he's masticating
Mass slaughter and kill,
And butcher, his thrill.
Does so without fail,
This is a collecter's tale.
A macabre truth.
The skin is fresh,
Pressed in, a tooth,
Sinew and muscle,
Hanging, poised to dry.
In the corner, a tendon,
And beside it, an eye.
In the middle, a man,
Who is masquerading,
Dancing and masturbating.
Holding up his hands,
On tissue he's masticating
Mass slaughter and kill,
And butcher, his thrill.
Does so without fail,
This is a collecter's tale.
Reacties op dit gedicht
| Dirk Hermans: | Donderdag, augustus 09, 2007 23:36 |
| gevoelig verwoord | |
| Tijger79: | Donderdag, augustus 09, 2007 03:31 |
| Ik ben niet bepaald onder de indruk. | |
| Tijger79: | Donderdag, augustus 09, 2007 03:23 |
| Lekker makkelijk, een ander de schuld van alles geven, terwijl die zijn leven al heeft gebeterd. Hierbij moet ik toch tegen je in gaan, helaas. |
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Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: DaemonicAngel | 
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| Gecontroleerd door: benji | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 09 augustus 2007 | ||
| Thema's: | ||