I do not desire him dead,

For the pleasure of death is too kind;

But I do crave to see him dismembered,

Tongue-tied, paralyzed, deaf, and blind.

This hate that I harbor consumes me,

And I know that I can't stand the fire.

So as I devise an approach,

I'm making my way toward that liar.

Smiling I stand on his porch,

And he finally answers the door.

He foolishly asks me inside

And I enter as I have before.

I follow the pig to his bed,

And my gut feels with anticipation. 

He lies down directly before me,

It's  clear pleasure is his expectation.

Handcuffed, he is none the wiser.

I'm lucky he gets off on pain;

But if I have to wait one more second,

I may very well go insane. 

His flesh seemed to beg for my razor,

So I gave his skin just what it needed.

I found justice in his vexation,

And relief when his wails went unheeded. 

I watched as the blood spilled profusely, 

And covered the floor as it gushed.

I smiled as the bedroom was splattered,

Sure he'd not again break my trust. 

My ax had not seen any action,

So I held it up over his head;

But before I released, I remembered...

I do not desire him dead. 

I know that he'll pay for his actions,

So I leave for my own peace of mind...

Because for a man that's as cruel as this fellow,

Even the pleasure of death 

is too kind.