Smiling guise, mask for all seasons,
hides evil lurking within.
Gentle caresses upon beefy back
precede plunge of proverbial knife.
Bullseye painted from across the room
as soot hued eyes brushed over
then settled.
A sultry stretch of lips sealed the deal.
Words dressed to impress
like lovely lyrics
danced into desperate ears,
tempting a starving psyche
to believe the impossible.
For weeks misleading,
all the while kneading,
a fragile ego
until a mind was owned.
Then arsenic phrases, dripping with disdain,
accompanied casual kicks
forcing devastated quarry
to plead for release.
The one deceived, reduced to knees,
begged for mercy.
Lord of Lies replied,
"You're your own best friend."
Slipping a noose about trembling throat
his silky whisper quelled all reticence
"I've stationed your chair."
Leaning lazily upon the jamb,
he fondles bulging crotch
as legs adangle twitch their last.
He dreams of fun to come
marring the virgin bullseye
(just this morning tagged but not yet bagged)
slated to be seated
across him at lunch.
So much to do before noon.
Sharp switchblade swiftly slices
through strained hemp.
Stew meat is schlepped by feet
to the walk-in freezer.
Date is quickly carved across corpulent loin.
His guarantee of fresh flesh must be upheld.
Satisfied customers frequently seek
to "come again".
Leaving for the bistro softly singing
"a hunting I will go"
his smiling guise is coaxed into place.
Fake gaiety oozes from his pores,
the best lure
for his unsuspecting prey.
Such abundant fair game
so blissfully unaware
of perpetual open season.



1Likes
LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks
Reply With Quote

- 




Bookmarks