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A Meal Fit For The Wolf
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Pain/Ilness Muzzle agape,
teeth baring pointed tips,
both fork and knife,
dripping salivations
from within' the gateway to hell.
as hungry eyes devour my soul,
even before the first gnash of flesh.
I am, the soup du' jour,
the 'special of the day.
Appetizer, entree and dessert combined.
Like steak tartar,
raw and not yet done,
I become morsel and meal.
Even my bones
shall be gnawed for days,
till every drop of marrow
becomes nourishment.
My blood shall be drank,
like a fine, red wine,
that still had years to ferment
till its full potential
of intoxication.
Yes, you shall swallow me
into oblivion,
until your belly protrudes
with the weight of me.
I hope you enjoy your meal
and I desire it be your last!
For I pray on ending breath,
that I turn your stomach sour!
That your insides twist
in gut-wrenching agony,
while I seep through your system
like wretched poison!
HEAVE WOLF!!!
Heave upon your final
intake of air
and choke,
on my very heart!!!!
© 2003
