From Hell’s heart I stab
Slashing throats,
Letting them bleed out like
The slaughtered pigs they are.
Buck’s Row whores!
Whitechapel bitches!

Keeps a cool head,
Don’t let the anger overwelm.
Need a steady hand
For the hysterectomy:
Uterus, its what’s for dinner.
Fried prostitute kidney is a favorite,
But I’ll share with Mr. Lusk.
I’m a very giving guy.

So little time to work
Out in the streets,
Where the whores fuck in the alleys.
To work inside, privately,
Is a gift worth paying extra for.

Look me in the eye,
Invite me into your room,
Smile; I’ll smile back.
I’ll take my time with you.
I’ll steal your heart,
After slashing your neck to the bone,
Burnt offering to a god you don’t know
With a name you can’t pronounce.

The rest is performance art,
A still life in death.
Legs spread wide on the bed,
As they were in life.
Skin peeled from your skull,
Intestine, liver and kidneys
Placed with care around you.
Left breast sliced off for a pillow,
I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.

Ah, I see you had fish and taters for dinner.
I’ll be having some barbecued whore heart
(Who knew they had one!)
My share of this bloody communion.

I always feel I should sign my work;
I won’t even leave my name.
But you know where to find me,
Mr Lusk.

10/27/16

I’ve had Jack on the brain since I read this post a while back. I wrote this as a result.