Fetid Meat

Fetid molds of meat are thrown to this pile
Skinned bare before I reach my slumber
An abdominal stench, emits through this orphanage
Dread to all who incur, my feculent passage

All who pursue end up just the same
Subject to horrific means to meet my end
Larynx crushed by my filthy hands
Disbelief sets in as they meet my eyes

An ultimately futile struggle
Tied down, bruised and twisted
They realise their life is over as I grab the hammer
Their skin is reclaimed, splayed across the floor
Their fractured husk, disjointed and split
Displayed for the next soul who wanders through
This hollow opening

Their hopeless screams reverberate
Through these damp rustic tunnels
Reaching out yet never to be found
Deep below the surface of my never ending butchery