I am a poet for those who make a meal of corpses.
For those who write a sonnet in their blood.
And fill their wretched stomachs with rot.

They dress in black feathers.
With piercing eyes
And ****** talons.

They are the only crowd who will listen to me.
Their focus is on me.
They will be useful.

I can't make a ****** out of sparrows.
They can't stand the taste of me.
I can't teach them anything.

When I rot crows will pick at my bones.
I'll fuel them to **** on humanity.
I'll die and they'll carry me to the cemetery on their wings.

My audience is beautiful.
My audience is dark.
My audience loves death.

I love my audience.
I am food for scavengers.
I am a poet for the crows.