victim of conquest

heart impaled the shrikes are screaming

victory, victory!

as if the agony is supposed to mean something

more than misery

as if mounting my soul on a pike is meant to

make me fit in just right.

blending into this cacophony of society i must

destroy that soft part of me.

where it's pulse doesn't match my step anymore

because it's dead, forevermore.

a sacrifice rotting in the sun - melting, decaying

and at last it is done.

dripping rot into the earth i emerge hungry

and alone.

the shrikes have picked clean all that i used to be

so i walk away.

there is nothing left for me in this place.