Mary Jane


Walking at night
The streetlamps illuminate her path
Tawdry and tired
She trudged
From another man’s house
Mascara smudged
Clothes torn
Body used
His mistress unaware

On the other end of the road
Stands
Another man with
His blades intact
His day just beginning
He smiles, he smirks
Outside he lurks
Waiting for his prey

Mary Jane
The final of the canonical five
She turns around unknowing
that
Next morning she won’t be alive

Alas, alack, Jack is back
This time for his final slaughter
This little slut from brothels
He cuts her throat quick
She cries out
Why, he wonders
She’s just someone’s daughter

Her breathing slows and comes to a stop
He assumes her soul is taken
He takes his scalpels and his knives
Knowing she won’t awaken

He plunges the knife into her stomach
But retorts he receives none
No cries, no tears, no shouts of help
For now Mary Jane is gone

He embowels the intestines
Wanting to give the police a show
His hands dripping with crimson ichor
He tries to take it slow

It’s an art, it’s a skill
Disemboweling humans
Those beautiful dead organs
He needs every time, again

The little slut is a corpse
Freakishly mutilated
Taking only her kidney with him
He leaves her there, recreated

He puts on his coat, his hat and his gloves
He’s a man of utter probity
He lets her be half-naked though
He thinks
- Not new to her is nudity

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