Hannibal's Bestfriend

A storybook is read but overlooked, a quiet uncommon crook, a schnook,

with his hood raised up, this boy is lacking luck, combating in blood.

Mapping the next cut on his arm, he rubs the razor along, it floods.

This homeboy isn't destroyed, his life just contains a lot of noise.

Not by choice, the voice in his head enjoys tormenting him whilst he lays in bed,

he talks to himself but nobody's there. A shade in the night, just a blare

but he sees as clear like the lingering air, a dithering difference /

he pretends not to hear, he pretends not to be offended when people stare.

The noise became over whelming for him to continue on to bare,

he's snapped and now he's trapped, first he killed his neighbor's cats,

next the homeless he see's as filthy rats, he's got a rack set up,

wrapped in plastic wraps, bleaches stacked, tools used to extract,

he lays the bodies down on flat, as he hacks a limb and ate,

off his edge chipped plates, he catered with his invisible "mate"

they giggle as he finishes off his delicate meal made of eight.

off the blunt end of a sharp blade he tastes, he's lost his way,

he's up front in a stomping parade but astrayed from the raid,

he looks all the same but thinks in a rather different way.

 

he leaves a deliberate scar

on the bodies he turns bazzar,

he calls it art when he arranges them

into literates with their spare parts,

He's a satanic cannibal,

Hannibal's bestfriend,

volcanic and flammable,

meat for everyone to eat,

an passable irrational treat, a trend

that tends to taste of beautiful blend.