Supper

I’ve been bed ridden for almost 3 days now,
Not entirely sure why.
I’ve kept to myself, but most have started to notice and yet no word has been uttered.

I’ve had 3 long showers trying to wake myself up from this state.
But your filth still covers my heart.
I’ve tried scrubbing with different kinds of soaps, gels, sanitizers,
Even sulfuric acid. But I still cannot dispose of your waste.
I’m sick to my stomach.

My lungs are filled with awful memories and dreadful goodbyes
And I’m choking on my own breath.
.
You’ve infested every fiber of my being
With your malachite orbs and sour lips,
Probing into my soul as If I were a turkey dinner... and you’re not even using a fork.
All that’s left of me
Is a hind quarter, a wing, and a couple of bones.

Enjoy.