You sit at my table
And eat of my flesh
Do my entrails warm you
Of the cold outside?
Viscera visions of death
Erodes my mind
While you lay bare my bones
Does it amuse you
To watch me suffer so?
For even a buzzard
Shows pity
My heart pumps no more
From whence blood once flowed
A river
As dry as sand
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC
You sit at my table
And eat of my flesh
Do my entrails warm you
Of the cold outside?
Viscera visions of death
Erodes my mind
While you lay bare my bones
Does it amuse you
To watch me suffer so?
For even a buzzard
Shows pity
My heart pumps no more
From whence blood once flowed
A river
As dry as sand
