Oh starving raven waiting for this
very day
As you esuriently peck on the reddened
flesh off my rotting carcass
How do you put up with its rancid taste?
Is my flesh not bitter, with hatred
for the people I didn’t care about?
Is it not sour with desire, for
things I still craved?
Is it not hot with anger for the
people who came in my way?
Is it still slimy with my covert selfishness
hidden by my overt smile?
Is it not salty with my pointless pride?
Oh raving raven is there still
enough love to make it sweet
As all my pomp and glory is now heaped
up as meat
Oh feathered brother! How could you relish what you eat!
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