Splish Splosh!
Pitter Patter!
I hate it when the blood spatters.

A mess to clean, a room to bleach;
A body to hide, a lesson to teach.

Splish Splosh!
Pitter Patter!
Excuse me, ma’am? Is something the matter?

You say your son has run from home?
Perhaps the boy has decided to roam.

Splish Splosh!
Drip! Drop!
‘Twas but another mess to mop.

So youthful, so frail,
Now silent, so pale.
Snatched him by the neck; he didn’t resist.
He was lifeless after a single twist.

Hack and Slash,
Slice and Dice.
A midday meal; oh, how nice!

His skin seasoned and roasted,
His fingers glazed and toasted,
Tender meat for my voracious tastes
A homemade sweet that shan’t go to waste.

Splish Splosh!
Pitter Patter!
Children served on silver platters.

She enters my home, wiping mud off of her feet.
I ask her if she would like anything to eat.
She replies,”Whatever you have that is fresh.”
Kindly I offer a plate of her son’s flesh.
She savors every bite; the boy sure tastes sublime!
For a moment, I’d forgotten about my crime.

Splish Splosh!
Pitter Patter!
Dinner is near, still we chatter.

We feasted and I observed; it’s wet outside, I see.
I wouldn’t mind at all if you stayed inside with me.