the cannibal

Malfeasant ghoul sitting on the stool.
haggard and jagged, his words drool
a mumble and a grumble he eats his stew
From the wooden bowl,
with a wooden spoon,
placed on a wooden table,
crouched over a wooden stool, upon wooden floors, in line with timber doors.

wood and leather, lather his existence
his dark eyes squint with persistence
a foul odor to warn to keep distance

His flesh wrinkled and cracked
his frail bones spintered and hacked,
He squirms then smirks from his empty teeth
as he,
he seeks contentment in
his timber cottage
lit by fire
your imagination his one desire
and so these words capture your essence and
your involvement in this horrid poem
 drives his hunger
and so
he sits on a wooden stool, crouched over the wooden table, with his wooden spoon,
from the wooden bowl,
he eats his brew,
made
of
you.