Sweet Violent Urge

Pages of a book stuck between fingers.

You lick and lick and they stay attached

refusing to peel apart.

Hair like dryer lint, lifting in the wind

whisping away, fragile thing.

A ghost of years past

and on your face, the betrayal of truth.

Hubris washed off, and confidence broken.

Heart in shambles, the failures of relationships end.

Jobs lost and children angry.

Revealing the lonely ranks of insecurity.

I know nothing.

I am nothing.

I never was.

You are nothing too

but you posture, with your youth.

And maybe, that is good enough

while it lasts.

like animal carcass.

I am splayed open, salted and tenderized.

My fatty bits sectioned off with bakers twine.

Red juices weep from my wounds.

Not blood, but the meat sweating

for better flavor.

A heavy palm comes down hard on my rump.

He lifts from the flank.

He samples the breast.

Hunger animates his body but he knows he must wait until the meat is ready.

He massages oils into the fibrous texture.

Working it in with the strong flat pads of his thumbs and fingers.

The meat is shivering.

The meat is shaking.

I’m told this is a chemical process.

Even once dead and removed from the body,

the meat dances on the table.

Due to the residual energy and nerve endings present in the tissue.

The flesh will twitch.

But it must be ready.

When it is ready he’ll carve it off in slabs,

and drop them into his mouth;

a mouse falling into the mouth of a snake

hanging by the tail.

He’ll glide the knife under the muscle

and it will slide down his throat

but it must be ready.

The meat is hanging but will not dry.

It drips

and drips

more juices.

The air is escaping.

The tendons are loosening.

He ties her off again and again.

Soon little lamb.

Soon.

the ever enchanting and ever splendid: davey havok