The Feeding

August 28, 2017

It was only on an august evening

when the clouds were as black as clockworks

sky grey with one pumping vein

shaking the occasional raindrop,

that I noticed and could see

the animals chewing on my flesh,

( I once hunted and joked with them.)


When they think that you are done

a relic with wounds used for their own sickly delectation,

they          feed




Leaving a slight beat

a bare bone

I, weak, still have a flame burning in the pit of my eye

a thinking phoenix in my stomach,

waiting for that perfect moment when I will rise once again

start feeding on their flesh for the very last time.


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