Living Sacrifice
By Ashlye Warner
Did you, the living sacrifice
know those old men?
The ones from the fiery depths of what was cranked
out of the minds of insane technologists.
Used to caramel over all the corduroy textures
divided amongst recipes of wooden death.
You are the living color, black.
The one that symbolizes demonic trait.
Worry not about your melon scented perfume,
only your budding flower.
Shooting feline claws, ripping at everything in its way.
Everyone squirms away from you.
Even her delicious taste sours in your presence.
Bath in your blood,
and make your slippery bed.
In the morning awake in it.
Feel it engulf your existence,
for once you suffer...
We can all live.
