Little mystery; nostalgic fable;
Eat brains with me at my table.
May we find ourselves more able
and capable of enjoying each others flesh;
go on and bite me;
Taste the baste the maker made.
I can’t say if I favor the flavor of myself
just roll me in flower;
baked me in the oven.
Turn me over when you feel I’m about to burn.
I look at your mouth and its all I yearn…
A little more.
Take some more;
And never stop speaking with your mouth full!
I like watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.
You choking on my bones gives way to euphoric dread;
When I’m dead pour phosphoric acid all over my head.
Melt the flesh from my face;
dip your finger in my eye
and have a taste!
I wouldn’t want all my hate
to go to waste…