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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

Lead - Matt

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