Torturer

I study my canvas, knife in hand,

Silence the clamoring demands

From all around; they stayed to watch,

Slowly, calmly, I make the first notch—

“No!” A scream, “No please, not there!

I’m telling you, this isn’t fair!”

I palm the knife and roll my eyes—

Antagonizing me isn’t wise.

Once more, I bring the sharp knife down;

A better target I have found.

A quick, clean stroke; my aim strikes true,

The voyeurs still protest, as well I knew

They would, but still, the screams subside,

I lift my blade, now grinning wide;

I know my work; I’ll take no advice.

I strike again, my aim precise,

And in this manner, I carve my prey,

Slicing, dicing, every which way,

I cut with fervor, take no break,

‘Til I’ve divvied up the birthday cake.