By S. M. Lincoln
Noble monster
Step beyond the grotesque
The carrion by your feet are rotting in ruin
The war is lost, forgotten, forlorn
And you stand upon this field of bone
Alone and uncertain
Waiting, waiting
Where the foetid meets the tender fat
It’s foul and finite, and it feasts, feasts
You look beautiful beneath this lurid light
Come closer, see the rictus grin gaping in my chest
Rend my flesh
Tear out my teeth
Peel back the skin that wraps my ribs until —
— until
For one glorious moment, I thought you meant to kill me
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