Being picked apart
Slowly circling
Stalking, plotting, picking
It feeds
And I let it
Laying there empty
Half dead, Half alive
Rotting
It means no harm
It doesn’t even know I’m alive
Black eyes and charred soul
If it listens carefully
It will hear the sound of a faint heart beat
If it looks beyond black eyes
It will see colors of dead memories
If it looks within clinched hands
It will see shards of broken dreams
It’s not worth looking at though
The meat only as good as the whole
And there is nothing whole left
So I offer it more
Waiting for it to carry away
The last, rotted, remaining piece
There was always endings
But never beginnings
And as it spreads its wings
Leaving me to decay
I stare at the sky and wonder
Will this be the last ending?
Or will it come back for more?