poetry

Vida de los muertos de la noche .iii

Sunken eyes


Cigarette lips

Flesh bitten scars

Red on orange bleeding organs

Dare i see myself in its path

Then why does it have no pain when it wails

But I do,

My pain is at my brain

It wants it alive

It wants to feed on me

Swinging my machete

Aiming at its noggin

Still

They come

Never wavering

Never killing

Only want to feed

Like me a glutton on nachos grande

No more ammo

Machete is way too bloody to knock flesh back

One by one they keep going

And i run as hell and keep going till no more breath to take.

I see them a sliw encumbering logs in the night

Turtles by the waves with wailing, growling and one spoke

BRAAAAAINNSSS.

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