My Friend, What Are You Eating?

My friend, what are you eating?

It makes me sick what I eat;
My mouth is sour, again and again I spit;
Chunk after chunk I bite rots my teeth;
A cold cloud, my breath curls like a poison wreath;
My stomach knots, twists; restless like a mad man’s fist;
My eyes sting, itchy from the mournful mist
She made with the vapour of her howling mouth
When I gashed her throat and tore it south.
My teeth chatter, my heart shrinks, my lungs swell,
Oh, my friend, I am unwell.

My friend, what are you eating?

Her hair once the colour of gleaming gold,
Now blackened and devoured by unforgiving mould.
Her beauty is gone; her body is a rancid froth
That I consume for my daily broth.
Her screams still fill my head,
As when the blade glided deep and the bed was red.
She tastes bitter—her blood is clotted aloe.
Once I’d chuckle when she awoke to say hello,
For then her voice and her heart were mellowed;
And I believed her soul was hallowed.

My friend, what are you eating?

Tonight there’s but a bone left on my dinner table;
It’s hollow, rotted and rank,
Indeed, infinitely far from adorable,
Like her heart when on the stranger’s bed she sank,
When her eyes harboured mischief and deceit
And her soul relished the glamour of falsehood;
And shameless, unclothed and explicit,
She became the heated gossip of the neighbourhood.
It was a darkled day in my life,
A colourful one for my knife,
For the warm redness was hard to resist,
Just as from her wanderings she’d unable to desist,
And a magnificent meal beckoned me with gory glory.
I felt furious, not sorry.

My friend, what are you eating?

Her left leg,
The lovely limber limb you probably so well remember,
It is stiff as a tethering peg,
The flesh frozen hard and nearly impossible to dismember.
It is in the fridge,
From the knee upwards to the once well rounded delicate thigh
Where it formed the bridge
That was the wellspring of pleasant sighs
On nights and days of pure blessed passions
Rendered in absolute joy and zest for the moment,
With neither deliberations nor reservations;
Blissful periods of heat, love, mingling, and sweet comments,
Silent, sweet sudation outpouring from conjoined bodies
Unto a singing, undulating bed;—A perfectly balanced dynamics:
Love whisperings, love songs; love melodies and hymnodies!
All in harmonious, ethereal eurhythmics!

My friend, what are you eating?

The knife—it made a sudden jagged gash across her throat;
She twisted, turned, flailed, flared, and nearly threw me afloat;
But my knees were quick to pin down her shoulders,
My hands to sever her jugulars.
Face distorted in utmost horror, eyes wide as haunting holes,
Mouth opened soundlessly in an ugly rictus suitable for dholes,
She gurgled and gargled in her voice,
Sounds so foul and vile but I had no choice.
I held her tightly till she was gone, her body merely ticking;
Then I reached down with my tongue, started drinking.
Carotids spouting, jugulars gushing, I licked the rutted
Flesh until I was, in blood, gorged, glutted;
And I cut out her heart, ticking and kicking feebly in my hand,
Devoured it—chewed, chomped, choked—and
Then dispatched her tongue, breasts, kidney, liver, spleen;
For in the art of cannibalism, my friend, I was never green.