Oily curses drip down
your bearded chin, sin-eater.
"Bellyfulls of warm meat for
anyone brave enough to hunt
his brother," you call. The
hunter's hollow stomach howls
his assent as you swallow him
whole, caging him beneath
your sunken ribs, where he
huddles alongside the shriveled
husk of your worm-infested heart.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows & Dust [poetry]
PoetryMost of my poetry is autobiographical. I write about living with bipolar disorder, dating, single parenting, my neo-pagan spiritual beliefs, my dreams, and sometimes popular folklore. Many of these pieces come from my self-published collections...
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