Men

Men, murderous men. I eat them like pies,

Cook them in stews, boil jelly from their eyes.

I stab them slash them tear out their soul,

Using the skin to soak juices from a bowl.

But why use the head? There’s nothing there,

Nothing nothing but cobwebs and filthy air,

                                 

Rather the heart once it is drained,

Rid of all emotion it formerly contained,

Perfect for a soup, or perhaps a lung?

Full of the breath, the life that begun.

Lips, luscious lips, are a delicacy

A lover’s legacy, a fierce kiss that lingers

Goes very well with some fumbling fingers.

But the tongue must torn, see in store for details,

The tongue has always blackened

Clotted and rotted, been tied with lies,

Served to we, women, disguised

In a slimy slobber of gloop and grime.

And me, murderous me. Armed with my knife,

Surrender this hand and I surrender my life.

Fie fi foe fum

I smell the blood of a gentleman

Be he a saint or be he a sinner,

I’ll spit out his heart

And eat him for dinner