The Taste Of DeathMature

The more I think about it, the more wrong it seems in my head. I think this is a pretty heavy topic, so if you're sensitive, I actually beg you to read on, because it might make you think about it more.

Recently it occurred to me that I love the taste of death.
I love the taste of slitting throats and of breaking necks,
I love the taste of flesh as it peels away from bones,
I salivate at the idea of my ambiguous moral code.

I love the way the crack of skulls sits upon my tongue
I love the way we murder; the old, the weak, the young
I dream of my next slaughter, the dead slipping down my neck
I love how we breed them so there is always something left.

Don’t you fantasize about their murder?
How you can puncture their soft flesh?
If the idea of piercing skin disgusts you,
you could just beat them around the head.

We can kick them and stab them,
slit their fucking throats.
Shoot them and hang them,
break their bloody bones.

Once they’re dead we won’t bury them,
we’ll pay them no such respect.
We’ll cut them up, dissect them,
and put them into Styrofoam packets.

And we won’t stop there,
we won’t stop their shame
we won’t let them rest in peace,
we won’t let them rest in pieces.

We put their body parts on display,
we give parts of their body a price,
we hang them in windows
and we spread their bodies out on ice.

I’m no hunter, no, just a writer.
I’m no Nazi, but I have been party to the
biggest prejudice ever known to man.
I have stood by and reaped the benefits of death.

Recently it occurred to me that I love the taste of flesh;
for too long I’ve bought into sorrow, pain and breaking necks.
Recently I realised that I can no longer endorse,
this sickening brutality; this animal holocaust.


The End

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