Human Feast

4/16/13- A caretaker complex. (TW: Cannibalism, gore, blood, gross stuff.)

A boy approached me and begged,

Sunken eyes and distended belly proud, 

For a bite out of my left pinky,

For, surely, I could spare that much. 

So I let him, because that's what friends do.

A girl came to me and pleaded,

Bright eyes murky with mascara 

And xylophone ribs, provocative with pity, bare, 

For a bit of my liver. 

So I gave it to her, because that's what friends do. 

And soon the masses came, 

A horde of broken, sad zombies 

With stick legs and malnourished souls,

Crying for a feast of flesh, human flesh.

My Flesh. 

Dining on unadulterated girl, too quick to believe 

She is only pretty when she has an apple in her mouth 

And an a*s full of stuffing. 

And so I let them, because that's what friends do. 

All that was left was a rattling skeleton, 

A permanently grinning monstrosity 

That would never smile again 

Because they ate my lips too and 

I let them. 

Because that's what pushovers do. 

They came again, 

No longer weeping victims, 

But gluttons fat off the nourishing flesh 

Of my body. 

Of My Body. 

They demanded more, more of me,

More than I could give because I had nothing left 

Failure to satisfy led to ghoulish howling and wailing 

Because that's what leeches do. 

I suddenly understand how Jesus felt

Surrounded by lepers and the dying

All asking for his blessing. 

But because I am no saint and will not crucify myself, 

I slit open their stomachs and took back what is mine. 

Dressing myself in the rags of my skin, hale and whole, 

I laughed at the dying. 

And paid no mind to their moaning and whining.

Because that's what people should do. 

Author's Note

I recently got into writing poetry. I hope that you enjoy!