Becoming One ]

The Stench of rotting flesh,
in my butchers room of death.
Play the god,
of our facade—
choking on your final breath.

I need to skin you alive,
I need to feed my mind.
I need to feast on your soul,
like a snake I'll consume you whole.

Little lamp fit for the slaughter,
lying stillborn in my hands.
Tearing flesh, stripped to the bone.
This is what my [bad word] 

Frozen death is all that's left.
To absorb you and [bad word] one.
Aching eyes, that you might have met,
but you will never ever forget.

I need to skin you alive,
I need to feed my mind.
I need to feast on your soul,
like a snake I'll consume you whole.