THE HUNGRY CORPSE
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.