by Ed Sullivan
With claws so made to rend the flesh,
My heart so easily leaves my breast.
Ribcage split now with a crack,
A feast for all that live in black.
My body hollow without a soul,
Which thou hast harvested from this hole.
Carve up my cooling corpse,
Chop me up with your brute force.
You care less of death’s taint,
nor be I sinner or even saint.
The hunger present knows no bounds,
for you to plunder burial mounds.
So finished dining this dark night,
You will not hear your victim’s plight.
For you see I am too dead
to lament over your daily bread.
Fill your belly on witches hour,
on my flesh which starts to sour.
Is it not some guilt you felt,
when you’re forced to loosen belt?
When the sun comes up for the day,
you will start to slink away.
They will blame the wolves so near,
before ever thinking ghouls were here.
© 2014 Ed Sullivan
Ed Sullivan moonlights as the Flash editor for Aphelion
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