A dish best served
cold, with mustard
I gleam
malice as I feast
sinew, flesh, and muscles,
bones by the mouthfuls

I do recall that
in the past,
I would have cringed,
but now I binge
in blood thirsty
ecstacy

and it's all ok;
I mean, at least
that's what it has
been made out to be.

In my ruthlessness
as I devour
the life force
that some divinity had blessed
but now, apparently, cursed
while I rent flesh

I laugh as I defecate
because I remember
the universe will reciprocate,
then, perhaps, it won't matter.