Guinea Pig





Vicious knife ran over the animal, caged
yet not docile as it meant to be,
a surprise of a wild incompletion
of true free-verses seeking passion.

The researcher never had been frank
to seek his

Experimental tantrums in wicked
sparkles on those set of neatly laid-out
various Vaughan Abscess knives,

His robotic tasks gleaming in plastic smiles,
wooing his prey in a stylish romantic ease ,
a perfect one-night stand on this guinea pig,
to bleed out its breathing plasmatic truth.

Life spilled in termination in his love-dipped
mask of strangulation moves ,
walls splashed in merriment of crimson inks

Cruel hands cleansed sooner of any memories of last seen
innocence on those eager eyes,

Just coming of the age, in the dying moment
for that rare-virtued existence now made extinct,
about flashy deceptive aprons worn in convenience.

Silence of a saint now grips
the  serial killer , after a clinical release.
Eyes now search for a gerbil, a hamster
or even a fruit fly to uphold his workplace sanity.


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