Plunge deep into my soul that shank made of bone. It is when my back is turned away from you. As you are slowly withdrawing your ancient weapon, it would seem a ****** ripe ol piece of meat still precariously clings to the end point. A....Nice....Big......Chunk. Will you roast it over open flame? Nah, not you. You wink at me and begin to eat it raw, blood dripping down the sides of your mouth as you primitively grunt and tear at the rawness and the sinews, suckling in the fat for a bit. You pause only for a moment to enjoy the tangy metal taste of the blood dance as it bursts onto your not particularly hard to please pallet. Are we well sated? Now I that I have been made to watch these acts of cannibalism to my being? A piece of my soul here, another slice there. Oh by the Gods! Is that cheap wine you’re using to wash me down? How bitterly cliché.........A lesson from my childhood now transfixed. Oh yes indeed grandmother, fairy tales are real. The veritable Big Bad Wolf lives. The beast was predatorily and brutally ravenous whilst hiding in sheep’s clothing. Aye, ravenous….. ~M

With a single stroke
all lines are broke,
the past becomes
previous paths
that I wrote.

Death is no longer
a possible future
but a present presence,
tired of playing
and predatorily pursuing,
now settling in for chewing
up my tired old skin.

Breathes are heavy labors,
and there is no hope
that they will come easier later.

A million-fold roads
collapse into one
reality,

and unlike this poem
life finds its inevitable ending.