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By night I return to the storage shed

Anxious to catch a glimpse of the dead

Nervously, I unbolt the door

Making my way into this abatoir

Hot air rushes out the aperture

A putrid gust of flattus and methane

Inhaling the rotting fumes as I choke

Hit by a wave of nausea I try to restrain

At last I regard the bloated stiffs

Terribly dislimbed and deceased

My plumpened prizes now swollen by putrefaction

A makeshift mortuary for the obese

Their corpulence exceeded solely

By the foulness of their smell

Their girth only expanded upon in death

The fleshy carcasses bloat and swell

Postmortem hypertrophy plagues the hefty cadavers

Their portly bodies now thoroughly dead

The incessant buzzing of insects as necrovores slaver

Fills the tepid chamber whose walls I've stained red

I hacked through their layers of blubbering fat

Some were gutted, some punctured, some razed

When I finished I found them decidedly flat,

If not yet dead, then at least bleeding and dazed

In this dingy shack I had left them to rot

And then departed the undignified scene

The makeshift crypt they inhabit now fetid and hot

The curdling innards turned a sickly shade of green