On Display

With the twist of my knife, I’ll make it count.

Displaying your secrets from the inside out. 

Precisely I dig, and precisely I carve. 

I’ll make a monument out of your failures with no disregard.

Your heart will be the first to go. One swift grasp and the blood will surely flow.

Proudly I’ll place it on a mantle, like a beloved family portrait. 

Then I’ll hang your intestines from a coat rack, like a scarf or your go-to winter garment.

Next will be your eyes, and all the lies they tell. 

I’ll scoop them out most violently, and most thoroughly enjoy your yells. 

Then I will hang them like ornaments on a beautiful Christmas tree.

And as for the garland, Well I’ll just simply yank out your teeth 

ONE by ONE with an exceptional glee.

I will string them together with the utmost of care

For they will be intertwined with your bloody and ripped out hair. 

Oh and your skin, well it will naturally be peeled away, 

and I will lay it out on the wooden floor as a rug where the children can play.

And don’t you worry about the blood stained walls, 

Because I feel it gives the room quite some charm. 

However, I must light a fire to keep us warm,

I suppose I will use your scraps, all withered and torn. 

Your monument is quite a sight, and the scent of your secrets burning- Such a delight!

For the sharper the knife, the deeper the wound. And I’m afraid your secrets came out too soon.