Vultures
Creatures of a forsaken god,
Rightfully outlawed.
Tending to the dead and lying,
No matter how flawed,
Whispering fate to the cold flesh.
Warm damnation or icy abyss,
To the old heralds of death,
Flesh on bones is all that exists.

Skilled
Not a drop of blood, yet they know,
How do they know?
Hades whispers: it’s time to go.
Where do I go?
That sparkle pen I stole at ten
Regrets of men
The childhood sadness i cherished
Forest that perished
Desserts I still wish to savor,
my first lover...
The apologies yet to do—
Are they coming too?

Or is it all gone as well?
I remember I had things in me
Things that were... beautiful
Things I saved for them to see.


Patient,
Stirring the sky before I fall,
The zenith of noon to nightfall.
Heads dipped in eerie stillness,
No chirping choirs, voiceless.
Just the slow bites of dry skin,
Taking all that was ever mine
Picking away at my carcass
As if silenced in mourning.

Hungry,
A dark cloud that feasts on weak flesh,  
Ripping apart all I am,  
My old face, my adolescence
My name, torn from my essence
In the twilight, their shadows grow,  
A macabre ballet in the fading glow.  
They strip me of my mortal guise,  
Leaving only echoes beneath the skies.  

Precise,
Each bite erases a piece of my story,
Remnants of some former glory
Just bones and an artifact
After this final act,
I find my cease,
peace.