Moonlight full shines its discus sphere,
Upon a bloody boy sat astride the dark,
His naked lips smiling gruesome cheer,
As within a wasted frame jabs his heart.
Unblinking, he stares; he stares unblinking,
Becoming stilled as the shadows formed,
Whilst in mind raging a tempest storms
Cracks of lightning; flashing, thinking;
Thinking, slinking; drinking, sinking;
Like an anchor desperate not to move:
Oh I cannot, I cannot, he thinks thinking,
Yet ever in wanting his pain soothed –
Maybe just one, the little one to sate,
Now he thinks, and he likes the sound.
A guttural beast his stomach growls;
Eyeing up his hand, sealing pinkie’s fate.
Dangling closer the sacrificial limb,
He salivates like a dam burst, drooling;
Collecting a puddle at his toeless feet.
And he doesn’t hesitate, he never did:
Plugging the flow between his teeth,
At once biting down upon the joint;
Hearing the cracks of teeth and bone,
Grossly accompanied by his mewing moan;
Tasting the copper rich blood flow forth,
Gulping eagerly the body’s erotic juice,
Ripping away flesh and sinewy produce,
Until at last the garrotted digit loosed;
Where after a time chewing his prize,
He swallowed down his old snot-picker,
Awaiting then for tears to begin to cry,
Understanding he was getting ever sicker.
For already a new thought felt to arise:
Perhaps, perhaps he thought to himself.
This wouldn’t feel quite so good if next,
If next I chose to feast upon my eyes!
So thought he, sat astride an endless dark,
Where in his wasting frame jabbed a heart,
Gruesome lips smiled at with naked cheer,
Under spotlight of a full-moon’s spear.
Al Matheson (@AlMatheson_1) is a poet living and writing in the U.K. Who upon occasions, after some mild-combative internal discussions, is known to let his words escape into the wider world at large.