Don't mind the lyrics

He laced her legs with ribbons of red,

Stitching her eyes, bruising her head.

He cut her wrists and hymned a song:

"Pretty little things don't scream for long."

Petals of flesh fold under his blade,

He carves her stillness—a doll remade.

Candles flicker on her porcelain skin;

She's his chapel, a war to win.

He calls her name; she responds in kind,

Luring them in, subdued from behind.

He kisses her lips, now cold and tight—

A lover's goodbye, a killer's delight.

He dresses them up, no detail to spare,

Wrapped like a gift in death's cold stare.

He whispers in silence, a spark in his chest:

"Aren't they lovely, in eternal rest?"

He plays with them in love and fire,

A wet, choking gasp of deranged desire.

He licks the blood upon her face,

Then dumps them out—no one to trace.