A baneful clanging sound pierces through the wooden walls
As the door opens slowly to the gallery
The pure lunacy content
A range of devices allotted to the mess among the mass
The sickle and the carver
Two of each one
I clutch at them

Back onto the shelves
I arrange the body
Two sickles puncture his arms
Attached with strings at the bevel ceiling joist
The elbow bones keep the cupids from slipping
And let them getting stuck
In the flesh that has to ooze without fail

Now I start the horrid surgery
Placing the two carver blades
At the left and right side of the spine
Until finally I slit along and tear it unhurriedly out

The disfigured tissue folds into itself
He will outlast in putrefaction
And a glint sweeps over my blades
That gets merely refracted by the homeless blood upon

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