Crows & Ink

The crows

Have gathered

In the tundra around my heart

Waiting, knowing

That death is coming-

Their beaks rip through flesh, showering the ice in blood

Gorging themselves on the withered meal

Consuming memories and failures

And all the pretty little lies

All of the triumphs, all of the small happinesses-

Living in the carrion.

I let them tear me apart, 

And offer my soul when they are finished.

The End

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