Shimmering rays of light shine into a room hidden in the darkness
Sweat glistening like crystals off an invisible form hiding within silence
A crimson puddle sparkles beautifully beneath the broken tortured figure
The iron reverberates from shackles of a brilliant metallic silver
Within the tortured silence the distinct sound of dripping can be heard
The crimson trickles over cold stone, reflecting infinite hurt
His breathing mirrors his memories filled with a forgotten pain
The unbearable agony he confesses confines him more than his restraints
His consciousness flares as a hollow silhouette enters the disturbing room
The spark blinds his exposed eyes as electricity illuminates the sinister tomb
Laid upon a blood-stained table lies tortured tools of meaningless torment
He closes his eyes, preparing to face his inevitable death with false content
The serial killer walks towards the broken figure slumped against the basement wall
He grabs a metal scalpel from the aluminum table, before approaching his favorite doll
He rips the torn shirt from the victim's torso, exposing his muscular, tender flesh
He drives the scalpel into the abdomen of the tortured soul, hot blood runs fresh
His tightened muscles convulse in response to the afflicted anguish
Growling in an act of mighty defiance, he strains against his own languish
His mutilated skin shreds, blood explodes from his mangled wrists
In a snap, his bindings shatter in a incomprehensible mass of lacerated fists
His splintered lineage drips into a useless heap upon the frozen floor
He limps towards the executioner, blinded by rage, his wounds he ignores
The murderer laughs menacingly beneath his obscure concealed mask
Grabbing a sledgehammer, the killer breaks the survivor's knee with a resonating crack
Laying his prey upon the blood-stained table, the tormentor begins to operate
He whistles eerily in the empty stone room as his cutting begins to mutilate
The suffering hostage watches as his blood splatters against the crooked surgeon
He fades in and out of consciousness as the ruthless criminal begins another insertion
The evil tools render through the slave, blood bursting from veins as he slowly chops
Arteries are laced open, blood spraying into the air like fountains running nonstop
The meat is minced, the gore squirts across the forgotten room with a new-found energy
The bones are sliced, the marrow is scraped out with a metal pick ever so cleverly
Heart still beating, organs intact, the surgeon cauterizes the open bleeding
He grabs a hammer and chisel, and drives it into the spine, the slave is beaten
Spine fractured, paralyzation imminent, the butcher begins his final progression
He tears open slave's abdomen with his bare hands and pulls out his intestines
The hot blood turns cold, the tortured reaches his inevitable demise
With chains and hooks, he hangs the broken body like laundry to dry
He cleans the room, the blood-stained table is the only evidence that remains
Inside the secret slaughterhouse that contains human meat for the sadistic insane
The coy off-rhyme in the
The coy off-rhyme in the final two lines is like a broken chime that signals an end to this appropriately eerie experience. I wonder what you would make of the 1888 London serial killings?
Starward
Thanks!
I'll have to look into that sometime.