top of page



My skin is melting, so I mask it,

as I creep out of the grave.

A hundred years inside a casket

might explain why I now crave

a decent meal. I think I'm liable

to consume your every part,

beginning maybe with an eyeball,

ending with your beating heart.

And since I love a good dessert,

I think I'll grind your skeleton.

You'll be dead, so it won't hurt,

and bones make such great gelatin.

Follow Us
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square
bottom of page