Foie gras

I am suffocating. You forced stars down my throat — teeth shattering, crushing, spilting. I no longer have any. Crunching and crunching with nothing but ion till it would stop. Now I am full. To the point I can recognise that you are just feeding me hate.

My veins are fatty, cholesterol to the heart and heart attack incoming. I am limited in movement due to the build up of rage inside of me just like my mother gave birth too. I remark, I make sounds — I am cooped up in a corner.

The night comes and I sleep alone. Under the bleak stars and moon with no tomorrow. Rain will shower me and the snow will cover me. The diameter begins to get bigger as malice builds up inside of me.

Blah, Blah, Blah, I ignore whatever is going on around me. But I am on call to pounce on whoever, whatever wants to fill up their chalice with my blood. A fire is lit but you are the one burning in it.

I am hiding from something that I have no control over. Under the stairs, in the cupboard, legs upto my chest — where I belong. Your eyes, I see them; they are filled with loathe and detest.

You grab me, by my neck with a cleaver in your other hand. I fight to get out of your grasp, choking. I see death before it has even happened. I see death more then I see life.

Death is an escape yet — not for others that have been waiting for it.

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