The Perfect Hate

Pierced and bleeding, ripped and torn
Don't call it torture, call it art
In my revision, the flesh re-forms
Becomes the statue I have carved

Sick inventions, morbid dreams
Hypnotized by the vision
Blind to suffering, deaf to the screams
It's my view of crucifixion

Lacerated to be sewn again
How much more can I create
Replant the pieces I contaminate
And then again resuscitate

The smell of blood, asphyxiates
Lights the torch of ambition
Sets the framework for the perfect hate
Dismembered beyond recognition

My hunger makes me burn
And do it once again
Insanity takes over

My hatred twists and turns
As you cry out in pain
Integrity disordered