It's not hunger for flesh to matter,
glucose and life.
It's a feasting pain for soul,
it's emptiness between ribs,
lungs torn in fold.
Christen me a black hole, 
cardiac's no response to a dead soul,
ghosts haven't a say.

please it's no compatibility

please me with fangs,
fashion thistles and ripping implements,
non-human descends always to the fiendish of gruesomeness,
bloodless and monstrous.

Haven't a prayer,
haven't a soul,
haven't got a vessel to scream 
wretchedly home.
It's best to let demons lie,
let spirits die,
burn out our dying phantom cries.
It's to feed the slaughtered
with platters of blades and bullet shrapnel,
ghosts give,
ghosts speak,
ghosts don't truly wish for a living peace.

Please may we take a taste of rifle barrel,
please just a second helping of buck shot
and spoiled brain splatter.
Bless what we become,
all ghosts eventually become undone.