From this point on, the news gets worse
You might not want to read,
For once the creature’s got his girl,
Her innards does he need.
With gaping mouth, as pitch as night
His feast’s a work of art,
He hides in woods and slurps them up,
Liver, kidney, and heart.
Her empty shell, now organ-free
The creature doesn’t waste,
A life of work and love and play,
He wants to know and taste.
With slipp’ry hands, he peels her flesh
And makes a coat of skin,
But in the end, he knows again,
He never will fit in.
This monster of the lakeside woods
His memory is crude,
For soon enough, her body rots,
It’s time to find new food.
Click here for Part 3...