Jars - The Black Dahlia Murder

My jars, wonderful jars, each labeled and stowed

Beneath the cellar floor where not a soul would ever know.

Preserved my sustenance to last the entire winter long.

These jars, my precious meat brined and pickled cuts of human beef.

Row after row, a pantry full of enemies.

Maintained and organized, a vast collection dear to me.

Each one a toy of mine.

I revisit them when I should eat.

With zeal I recollect that very moment of their defeat.

Salting and curing every piece for my flesh feast.

(In jars) vessels immaculate, cylindrical and clean.

(Their heads in jars.)

The lightless winter months have gone straight to my brain, know what I mean?

Here in my solitude, fed by my stock of dead (preserved in jars)

Their facial features warp, the laughter never ends.

My foe, I win.

My jars innumerable, incalculable my pride.

Trophies of my love to hunt taken to such egregious heights.

Each one encapsulates a visage of that fateful night of those who have met

their end by my ever still and sharpened skinning knife.

Brown sugared long pig, what a treat.

Obscenely orgasmic to eat.

For this scrumptious family recipe, I’ve saved you a seat.

(In jars) Vessels immaculate, cylindrical, and clean.

(their heads in jars)

The lightless winter months have gone straight to my brain, know what I mean?

Here in my solitude, fed by my stock of dead, (preserved in jars)

Their facial features warp, defiled unto no end.

Again I win.

Row after row, a pantry full of enemies,

Maintained and organized, a vast collection dear to me.

8−17−05, this collegiate girl did kick and fight.

The next sow bled September 9th, plucked from her tracks, out like the tide.

(In jars) vessels immaculate, cylindrical, and clean.

(their heads in jars)

The lightless winter months have gone straight to my brain, know what I mean?

Here in my solitude, fed by my stock of dead.

(preserved in jars)

Their facial features warp, defiled unto no end.

Again I win.