I FED the PIGS YOUR Heart ( THEY Still Starved)

By PROJECT MONROE · Melodic Death Metal · From the album THE HORROR CONTINUES

The barn smelled like wet pennies and sour milk long before I dragged her in.

Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the tin roof, striping the dirt floor silver. The pigs were already restless, rooting and grunting like they knew tonight was different. They always know. I’d been feeding them scraps for weeks—roadkill, butcher leftovers, anything to fatten them up for this exact moment.

She was still breathing when I laid her on the cutting table. Shallow, panicked little sips of air. The duct tape across her mouth fluttered every time she tried to scream. Her eyes were wide, wet, begging. Same eyes that had looked at him while she was still mine.

I started with the heart. Always the heart.

The knife went in just left of the sternum, angled up under the ribs. One clean push. She bucked hard enough to rattle the chains I’d bolted to the floor, but the leather cuffs held. Blood came out hot and fast, soaking my sleeves, running off the table in thick ropes. I worked quick—scalpel, rib-spreaders, a few practiced snaps. The heart came free with a wet pop, still beating in my gloved hand like a trapped bird.

I carried it to the trough.

The biggest sow (Matilda, I called her) shoved the others aside. She sniffed once, then tore into it like it was warm cake. The smaller pigs squealed and fought for scraps, pink snouts painted red. They devoured every chamber, every valve, every last lying beat. When they were done, they looked up at me with those flat black eyes and grunted for more.

They were still hungry.

So I gave them more.

Fingers next. One by one. I held her hand like we were still dating, like I was about to kiss her knuckles. Then the bolt cutters. Snap. Snap. Snap. Ten perfect clicks. She passed out somewhere around the seventh. I slapped her awake. I needed her to feel the order of operations.

The pigs took the fingers like cocktail weenies.

I fed them her lips (the ones that had kissed him).

I fed them her ears (the ones that had listened to his lies).

I fed them her tongue (the one that had said “I love you” to both of us).

Every piece I removed, I told her where it had been, who it had touched, what it had done while wearing my trust. The pigs kept eating, kept grunting, kept staring at me like I was holding back dessert.

By the time I got to the torso, she was barely a person anymore—just a red, twitching thing that used to be mine. I carved her open from throat to cunt and let everything spill. The pigs went berserk. They climbed over each other, slipping in the slop, tearing at intestines like birthday streamers. I stood back and watched them fight for the liver, the lungs, the womb that had never carried anything of mine.

Hours later, the barn was quiet again. Just the wet sound of chewing and the low, satisfied grumble of full bellies.

I hosed the table down. The runoff ran pink into the dirt, soaking into the ground where tomorrow’s mud would hide everything. I tossed the bones (what little the pigs left) into the burn barrel with the clothes she’d worn when she came home smelling like someone else.

Matilda waddled over and nudged my leg. I scratched behind her ear, same way I used to scratch behind hers.

“You’re full now, aren’t you, girl?”

She grunted, turned in a circle, and laid down in the straw.

They all did.

I looked at the empty trough, the clean table, the dark earth drinking what was left of her.

And for the first time in months, I wasn’t hungry either.

Watch the I FED the PIGS YOUR Heart ( THEY Still Starved) music video

About Melodic Death Metal

A Gothenburg-originated fusion of death metal extremity with soaring melodies and harmonized guitar leads, balancing brutality with accessibility and emotional depth. Bands include: In Flames, At the Gates, Dark Tranquility

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