He gazes down upon his friend,
the latter's body mutilated and shredded -
he gazes down upon his deceased companion
staring straight at the loneliness he's dreaded,

he's a fighter, a sole survivor
ignorant to the moon above that grins -
he spits upon his hands and uses them
to wash away the blood splattered across his shins,

his valentine is the death
he's avoided for so so long,
having traversed these radioactive wastelands
his conscience is weak and his hunger strong

for now he constructs a fire,
a crude make-shift grill and spit -
hacking off his comrades arm, he leaves it to roast
and for a while all he does is sit,

'til finally he tucks into his tasty meal
of human flesh, gristle and bones -
eating another person simply doesn't phase him
and for more his stomach groans,

three days later his victim's corpse
lies barren, rotting and stripped bare -
no amount of muscle, flesh or fat to be seen
'xcept for a scalp still covered with hair

- - - Silence - - -

broken by the turbulent buzzing of the flies
that feast and swarm within the fighters mouth,
his body now lay dead and rotting
about twenty miles to the south.