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Guilt has gifted me and I welcome you

Authority shines on what I do

Agony is my craft, your screams will ring true

Hidden in the dark, veiled from public view

Digits torn asunder, warms my core

The cauterizing cries, are only pleas for more

Catalogued with care, preserved and stored

You must heal with my medicinal lore

Colour fades with the rhythm of the awl

Each foot drops, the pain goes spectral

The blood drives me feral

Ghosted joints licked by the candle

Iron blades now glow red

I hack each thigh again and again

A crimson shroud flows from my head

I nearly lost you in the realm of the dead

I come armed with a curved blade

You've not yet embraced your fate

My intention slices through the joint

Your meagre struggles are too late

Amongst the screaming and blood

The final pieces are cut out and laid

Tingling in my spine builds

As your life I once again save

I pull the sash to work my true craft

I place the pieces of the sculptural draft

On a frock in-sained

The stains of your crimes will everlast

Your remaining days, a tale of misery

Humiliation is my legacy

They come to see the contrived amalgam

Of grotesque man and rotten beast

Agony envisioned

Awashed in the beauty of artistic perfection

Wilcuma!