Entrails

Apple pie and fudge galore. 
On Halloween I opened the door. 
Just someone in a ghost costume. 
And a witch with a broom.

Cars outside are covered in rust. 
I always leave out the best pie crust. 
For him to eat. 
He needs a treat. 

He needs a treat better than sugar and flour. 
So I baked for an hour. 
Made some concoction. 
Which he takes with no reaction. 

No inflection. 
No reaction. 
Just fireflies flying around. 
As he cleans without a sound. 

Washing the blood away. 
As well as the baking tray. 
He trusts anyone who will give him food. 
He’s sometimes in a bad mood. 

Then he eats the flies, filled with old flesh. 
He knows that no one will confess. 
That they watched him. 
Transform from within. 

Apple pie and fudge galore. 
Cleaning up is quite a chore. 
Once you’ve baked the best pie around. 
There’s sure to be a mess on the ground. 

The organs and blood. 
Pretending it’s just mud. 
That’s how the cycle goes. 
When he smells it with his nose. 

When you use enough sugar and flour combined. 
You can cook the body up for no one to find. 
Then you just need a supernatural being. 
So no one will believe what they are seeing.

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