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It is still inside and the curtains are all drawn |
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Cloaked in red to hide there will be no dawn |
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This fair child shadowed by a rabid dog |
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Day and night it salivates at heel wits far gone |
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Minutes never rest hours turn to weeks |
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What life is this what sight is this |
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Her nimble fingers skin a cat alive |
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Shuddering at the sight but with no remorse |
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She rips and tears precious meat the body squeals |
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Still twitching and blinking still there |
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Grandmother of old tells us keep cupboards closed |
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Filling pantries with worship and divine |
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Not rotting companions we cry for in our sleep |
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Still twitching, still blinking, still there |
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Twenty hands long and mouth open wide |
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Needles drag across his skin in the night |
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Fear is not a part of her |
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Shame for what's to come |
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Knife in hand dripping and unclean |
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Resting an arm on a foul wood plank |
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She begins back and forth |
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The dull blade takes hours to reach bone |
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No tears no noise |
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This is the offering |
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With heavy breath |
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Shadows become eyes |
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No tears no noise |
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I give a part of me |
