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The Collector, Part II: Donor
Thick hands released his victim's hair
As she slumped over
I saw her slender fingers numbered
One to ten
He sliced each from their knuckles
Is taking a life as glamorous as your records make it seem
What happened
A living woman wouldn't cut it for you
Or they wouldn't pay you enough attention
so you decided to fuck the girls that couldn't possibly say no
He leapt from my new companion's side
Clutching his ten dripping prizes
And slapped me across the face
Screaming
Bitch
Shut your mouth
I won't hear another word
You think you're any different from them
Just pray that heart is more gorgeous than the rest
Or else your death will be a waste of time
Just like your life
Damn
It's true
Why are the ones who actually want the heart
The last ones we'd ever fucking give it to
Flies scattered and swam around my bloodstreaked face
As he resumed his desperate work
The last finger sewn in place
Unlikely for a man so drawn to novelty—
And so devoid of originality
To create
From the blank canvas of his mind
Such masterpiece
Even fanatics occasionally exceed
Their idols' genius
Maybe insanity is just truly seeing beauty
Still somehow
It may have all been for nothing
She is beautiful
I'll give you that
But she'll never be perfect
She'll never talk back
She'll never laugh
She'll never be warm
I'm used to them cold
I like it like that
He scooped the insects from her sockets
And positioned her new eyes
They'll never see you
She's soulless
She's empty
So am I
She's ready for you
Are you ready to die
Jaded motherfucker
How many times have I heard that line
You think I'm the same as the pawns in your game
You're just a tired cliché
A character spawned from a teenage brain
Are you ready to die
Well this is the end
What inspired you to slay and slaughter
Now you're just selling a fucking trend