Rented room for me, a storyteller,
Said my landlord, don’t go in the cellar,
Each night I heard some inhuman yeller,
So I snuck downstairs to find this dweller.
Lo and behold, a basement full of guys,
Let me tell you, this was quite a surprise,
Torture chamber where they did agonize,
Some missing limbs, others, ears, tongues, and eyes.
Attached to the wall, in shackles and chains,
Blood-filled tubes running in and out of veins,
Some cracked-open skulls and jars full of brains,
A horrific scene, these human remains.
This had to be some kind of sick study,
As evidenced by the ground all muddy,
Completely soaked and awfully bloody,
I turned quickly, feeling rather cruddy.
And then I saw my landlord in a robe,
Happily dissecting a frontal lobe,
Lighting areas with some sort of strobe,
Blissfully occupied by her sick probe.
I cautiously snuck by her with no sound,
Attempting to blend into the background,
I bolted as my feet touched solid ground,
No way in hell I was hanging around.
“The true method of knowledge is experiment.” ~ William Blake