The eerily sterile singing room,
Shining under the white hanging lights,
Shining silver table with brown leather restraints tied tight,
Blood flowing and stopping at the wrists and ankles.
The body lying lifeless and turning purple,
Beside a silver table with used tools and morbid toys,
Dripping scarlet blood from a female chest,
Staining the white tiles with small pools,
Reflecting the scene back within them with a red filter.
“Quick girl, get the tape.” a calm and bald ageing gentleman,
Pale sagging skin with bags and receding hair,
“Yes sir!” She runs. Tall and blonde and lithe,
Her rushing body willingly helping the man.
The body, a brunette aggressively thin and young,
Wrapped delectably and snugly in thick clear plastic,
Secured with silver tape before extracted from the room.
The organs on ice being sent home,
Scanned and priced and reported,
The poor body dumped with not a soul blinking an eye,
The reposition completed for the night,
And a warm cocoa waiting for the person for which it was prepared
The room cleaned for tomorrows hunt.
First Published on: https://offtherecordblog.org