Whittle

Lip chewing Making waves Beneath heavy lids Going down stares Led by come hither fingers Dripping darkness dares To steel my clenched fist Whittle flesh, make a man Bereft of bone and sinew Pedal and brimstone Whet with gore and malice Grinding shrapnel for dessert Soaked in lies and afterthought Napalm charring the bowel OfContinue reading “Whittle”