• I know the beauty of death,

    I am a master of it.

    I choose my victims carefully,

    color, structure, compatibility.

    I consider my options, take my time;

    I strike with cutting precision.

    The never know that it’s happened.

    That is the easy part,

    the true beauty, the art, is what comes next.



    They’re fragile now, require special care.

    Their limbs are awkward,

    they just get in the way.

    A few choice cuts and I have my prize:

    a beautiful face, long, lean figures.

    And now, now I can play.

    I move them each alone, choosing my favorite,

    moving them together to amplify perfection

    with the lesser of my choices.

    It is an art more natural to my hands than a fork in my fingers.



    I leave them as I arrange them,

    soaked in preservatives,

    always in a place that I can observe.

    An artist in solitude

    I am sustained by my creations,

    but no matter how I think,

    my efforts are never enough to prolong them.

    I smile whenever I am near,

    inhaling the sweet depth of their decay.

    It is time

    to start

    again.