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Slaughter
written by lone-poet08:53 AM 4/16/05| Meat hangs on hooks, caked with blood like scabs; and like the meat, a deathly stench hangs in the air. The floor is a river of blood and flesh. against the wall is an assortment of rusty blades, never been cleansed of their killing, the blood does not dry upon these blades, all you here is the subtle: drip drip drip, of the blood as it hits the floor. The man who pursues this life of butchery, is dead inside, as dead as his animals, he spends his day breathing the vile stench that protrudes from the carcasses, and chopping them into edible pieces. Each and every one of his carcasses are the victims of his blade, the same one that does not dry. No wonder he is so lonely in his house, everyone hopes her soul will die with him. for if not she will haunt all forever. |
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Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
mmb not 2 sure bout the ending needs a lil work
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