The Gorebox - Putrid Pile

Deep in the bowels of my basement

There sits a box of goodies that excites me

Filled up with putrid gore

Body parts of the young and old alike

Festering right here before me

I murder with my conscience clear

Soaking in the pluck of humans

Up to my neck

Livers, kidneys, lungs, and intestines

Just to name a few

Naked and standing at full mast

Aroused

Slamming my cock viciously, spewing semen ecstasy

Praise my gorebox

When all my victims have succumbed to my rage

They’re prepared for amateur dissection

Their ribcage meets my bone saw

Bones crack as I expose their innards, so inviting

No need for gloves

Fondle their bloody organs

Can’t ignore the madness that saturates me

When I bathe in innards, the lion’s subdued

The stench of the virtuous ascends to my nostrils

Triggering reminiscent thoughts of when I made them pule

Why do these morbid deeds, you ask?

Could I have been abandoned as a child?

Or maybe beaten to a bloody pulp?

It could be a million scenarios

Maybe I just like the power of death

To see my victims paralyzed with fear

Control of their fate

I just love to watch them die