Forensic Clinicism/The Sanguine Article - Carcass

Salutiferous exaltation, through fusty spatterings I sift

Cauterizing proud flesh, pyogenic cortex I just yearn to rip

With impalpable, cathartic tools, dilapidated lusts I gratify

Cold premediated surgery, in my calculated surgery I hold your fragile life

Pultacious

Pugnacious

Pernicious

Acro-idiopathic

Artificially concussed, excavating to your gastric core

Patulous, deep wounds, cascading and crimson as I explore

Master at my bloody art, I like to carve sculpture and maim

Mounted on the freezer’s geurney, you’re exhibited until you enter into decay

Pultacious

Pugnacious

Delicious

Gastric-idiopathology

Welcome to my theatre, the stage upon which I act

Turning into a sumptuous perfomance, heiniously I hew and gash

Churning out a deep gulch, the incision a major nick

A quick toke of nitrous oxide is how I get my kicks

Expurgating healthy tissue, opulent flesh I slit

Costate cuts expunged as the patient I now fillet

Malpractising and mussing, carnage hyperventilates

Self placebonic, the only cure is to operate

The recumbent are my prey — under my genital blade

Your precordium I brutally plunder — whilst you’re put under

Exsanguinating — you’re totally parched

Exenterating — removing body parts

Wholly abraded — Surgically maimed

Decortication — Medically slain

Contaminating, infacting, how I love to cough and sneeze

On the carneous culture, to cause bacteria to breed

Anaesthetised, paralysed, a clinical stupor is induced

With callous dexterity your bodily mass is reduced

I extract the gullet — to end up in my bucket

A quick flick of my wrist — and I’ll be struck off the list

Exsanguinating — straight from the heart

Exenterating — with my lancet so sharp

Anatomically — my surgery maims

Decortication — by the clinically deranged

Gross misconduct, I make the choicest cuts

Text book stabs, written on your tag

Wheeled away after a medical mishap

In a polythene bag your body is now wrapped

The acute wound now sealed up

The picture of ill-health, you’re a bit cut up