Cold, the chill creeps like a rat
into my hands, my feet,
slithering upward.
Bullet, you find your mark
all carved out for you.
I am your open wound,
uncautorized, bloody red meat.
You reach to grab that remnant chunk of heart.
Like chicken gizzards,
you fry it up,
feed it to your bottomless need.
And I fade and hover over myself,
waiting for the rescue
you cannot give.
5 comments:
Enemy, mighty dark screed. I have new posts at my blog.
downright mean and cruel - a poem with menace in its heart - just how i like my writing served.
hehe... I like this one.
Piktor,
I still plan on visiting my buddies while I take a break from Cruel Virgin.
Mack: Thanks, friend.
Ruksak: I appreciate the compliment. The muse of bloodletting has found me.
harsh as barbed wire and impossible not to be drawn in
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