Battlefield Corpses

Amputations so crude, bound to operating slab
Limbs cut and coterized in a makeshift lab
Fumes boiling tar floods a patient's senses
Crudely sewn limbs, scream as every muscle tenses
Desensitized medic, how many have been hacked?
Eviscerations spilling but are feelings what you lack

Obsessed with grevious injury
Specimens strewn
They pick their comrades carefully
Patients cry out to sell their souls willingly

Billowing corruption blows upon the winds
Toxic fumes coagulate resperation
Imminent infection you can not deny
Scream out for release, the only way is to die

Contagion on foul wind brings
The curdelled cries of the sickly sing
Ever bleeding from triangular wounds
By grand design the end comes soon

Blade gleams in the lamplight, torn into sickly flesh
End is a departure for this inhuman wretch
Medic walks along the line of body-filled cots
Staring into chaos, fascinated by the rot