The Final Meal

In haste, you cut me limb by limb

and fed me through your small door,

my voice no more than a squeak from its hinge,

no louder than the carpet’s hiss from the force.

You eat the parts of me that your bed won’t hold

that slip off your sheets and paint blood into the folds.

It turns your stomach,

the broad strokes of red,

Because I’m a bigger beast

than you imagined in your head.

You had exercised the knife,

why retreat as I bleed?

Somehow, I fear you less than you fear me.

Ride the midnight waves.

Wait for a twitch in the dark,

a haunting reoccurrence of the moment you pounced

and forced my being to arch.

I failed beneath you

yet you await my return

to feast upon your brains whilst sheltered by the night’s hue

despite my being laid to waste,

dismembered in your tiny bedroom.