1. RECONSTRUCT THE DAMSEL

She epitomises everything I want, my deepest desires, skin that glows in the sun, a light inside, the brightest I have ever seen.
But my urges take over, for that light I must extinguish.
I envisage, a monolith of my creation, reconstructed from the torn flesh of the damsel, the picturesque statue of mutilation.
It’s overwhelming, even more when she smiles, I take her in, breath in her scent, my eyes roll back.
Engulf her soul, we will be one tonight, I don’t want to hurt you dear but there’s no other way.
I am drunk on her crimson perfection, translucent in a state of bliss.
I rise to another plane, cognisant of the implications, my hand quivers as I cut, and now it’s time to reconstruct the damsel.
Her lips are so soft, and not just those on her face.
Separate the flesh from bone, erotic are her struggles and cries.
The first drops of blood seep from the incisions, the smell of copper fills the room.
Peel back the skin, expose the beautiful viscera, gleaming silky organs, I hold them in my hands,
Cessation of movement signals her transcendence into purgatory, but when the procedure is complete, I will retrieve my damsel.
I will retrieve my damsel from beyond
I will retrieve my damsel from beyond
I will retrieve my damsel tonight
The anaesthesia’s wearing off she wakes to her disfigured body, my work.
Reconstruction begins with the removal of the dermal shell, and ligature of life’s conduits.
Then drains the fluid, and debridement, the abdomen serves as the centre piece.
And limbs sutured into place in the most contorted arrangement, she looks nothing of her former self, metamorphosis.
I gaze upon a bloodied disfigured masterpiece, she is complete, at the mercy of Asclepius.
My damsel, brought to life through death.