Murder Perfection

A life he wasn't prepared to save
His victim placed in a shallow grave
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
For him to kill it was a necessary must
The thrill of murder fed his satisfaction
So he cruelly he put his plans into action
No escape for his victims as they were fated
He liked to take their last breath, their demise was premeditated
So are people really born to kill?
Or is it the thought of a trophy that gives them a thrill?
Some think it's better to be cruel than be kind
As they play out their theatrics over in their mind
Carefully trying to erase all signs of DNA
He rearranged their bodies so his victims all look the same way
Back in his home he will have created a shrine
Of newspaper cuttings and their hair platted like twine
Some he has enticed into his lair
Gaining his trust but their lives ended down there
Of artistic intelligence he was a perfect story teller
Until he led his victims down into the cellar
There every drop of blood was depleted from them
Like a skirt with it's unravelling hem
First the blood then the organs he liked to disect
He displayed them on a decorated table for the ultimate effect
Once he'd finished slicing the bodies to shreds
He would complete his mission by cutting off their heads