Feathered —
Vulture, not Pheasant
The matted Creature seethes atop her squalid roost,
A nest of shameful relics at her talons
Jilted —
She does her futile bidding in secret
Deluded devotion cloaked in compulsion
She longs for the backbone of a coven
A colony to call home
Unburdened by the inevitable  
The indispensable
The inescapable
Ravenous —
Her bloodthirsty quest
For a kindred flame
That her brokenness can’t smother
That her shame can’t suffocate
It consumes her spirit from within
And ruptures from her mangled skin  
Violent —
Varmint spirit
Feasting on the fleshy decay of her victims
Bathing their corpses in her venom
She weeps poison
A filthy, putrid wet
Starving —
Though it may be true that amidst its scavenge,
The creature devours with madness
Do not be fooled; the Vulture is known to fast
For once the meat is eaten, the marrow quaffed  
And it’s only the corpus delicti that remains,
She’s reminded of her greatest craving:
An emaciated phantom,
Just skin and bones and stains