Demented By Design

My mother tried to block me from the duct-taped scene 

as I wondered why the ceiling's curves seemed to breathe 

Something about the timeless linear pattern calmed my diagnosis

All I could do was marvel at the crown molding next to the necrosis 

as the breath left the victim tangled on the floor

the room seemed to live more and more 

my eyes darted from the marble, the glass, the shapes,

to the discolored flesh past the bright yellow tape 

a human life was gone

but still

the building lived on 

with elegant appeal 

the slew of tourists would never fathom

a crime scene was now added to their album

a place of respect

not for the death

but for its architectural depth

it was then and there a connection rooted in my mind 

that the death of a heart birthed inspiration of design 

Though I tried, nothing gave me the same drive

as staring at the pallor that made me feel alive

my first showpiece, I admit, was quite cliche 

baby steps often means starting  the cowardly way

a cryptic google search then the dark web

next thing you know, someone is dead 

My muse grew still, as planned, as my fingers raked the sand

power surging through, terrain molded by my hands

so soft, so compliant that I needed more

I watched the waves wash away bits from the shore

stroking the stained sand until it was smooth

allowing the ripples to soothe away the truth

the ruby-tinted ripples seemed to gleam as they stretched

raking, raking, rippling, rippling,

as I incessantly sketched 

They craned their neck in awe and posted

#nature #peace #tide 

Asking what inspired me...

"Nature," I replied.

My next check rewarded a more daring kill

One with a soundtrack that, if you heard, you'd feel 

the fragility of bones, the definite crack,

like the satisfying pop of bubble wrap

so many places to snap and bend

like a lego store for beautiful sin

Just when I thought I had enough parts

I would restart, simply for the art 

The ways the bones could play,

each a new challenging array

It was never ending- 

this clashing of straightening and bending 

It seemed to grow. Seemed to rise;

a muddle of marrow to new highs

where a ladder of limbs let me touch the sky

where waiting for me was a brand new design 

They awed again, a feeling unrecognizable

a bit like hope with a hint of maniacal.

While the upward spiral made me feel at home

my beautiful fragmented ode to bones

"innovative" they claimed

praise and punishment became one and the same

The weight of morbidity seeped into my palms

Once an interest, now too strong

It was never out of hate 

but instead, a need to create 

the yearn to slice

the itch to scrape

My demonic creator needed a legend 

Something more than just an edge in

Someone worth no piece of soul going to waste

beauty worth being martyred, carved, or vased

I painted, I dried, I salted, I sanded,

I became a machine 

Chemicals and charisma left me unseen

Her nails were buffed and polished, left in museum

Where tourists and reporters pay to see 'em

similar to what my other pieces deserve,

they lie in a place where white columns curve

You cheerfully shake my hand as you invest in

my new painting of human intestine

Other parts have been sold 

(besides the locks I still hold)

blended masterfully, right next to my name;

which has become my most complimented frame

Some are donated to good causes 

little do they know

chiseled teeth, they applaud it

show after show 

The human body is so versatile 

especially when dismantled

and so captivating after death

as it sits upon your mantle