It's like it's picking
at my bones
my organs severed
I wish I wasn't alone
I used to roam
along the plains
they shot me dead
and left my remains
now I'm stuck here
no strength to move on
dying in the desert
where I belong
a crow found me
smelling rotting flesh
My body is it's meal
I must taste the best
the finest carrion, Sun fried to perfection
I hope it stops biting in that direction
this isn't painless but necessary
I wonder what they'll say on my obituary
"He was a good man, he loved music and his pen,
Poetry and stories were his arts, where he created his closest friends."
I wonder if all the girls who turned me down
Will look upon me with a tearful frown
I wonder what everyone will say
when this crow is through eating me today
Ever think of something and not be entirely sure where it came from?
