Eat Me

The vulgar beast presides at the head of the table,

Claws extended,

Daggers dangle from his maw,

And rotten cherry red pools

Seeps through the creaking,

Cracking,

Wooden floors.

My worn bones draped on this cross,

Crucified by doubt,

Waiting for the humiliation

Of starvation to be

Over.

The vermin gather ‘round,

Speaking tongues of hollow prophecies,

Spilling blood, not sacraments.

In this last supper, I sit,

A solitary dish in a feast of beasts.

The other followers screech his gospel.

Kneeling, yet their eyes betray

The sharpened teeth beneath their faith.

I am the offering,

to make their sins

disappear into the pit

of hell, but they will

never feed

the beasts

insatiable

hunger.

Written by C.H.

‘My work explores my personal struggle with religion and the pressures from my family, leading to an ultimate guilt and alienation.’