The depths of winter stare daggers from a distance,
war cries arrive on the wind,
and I am bleeding by Autumn.
I am gathered and gutted,
my soul, spilled across meadows,
my mind following it,
just to find some peace and quiet.
I’ve got nothing left,
but the vultures venture to where I was last seen,
smiling with full beaks,
breaking their jaws to swallow more,
because there is always more to consume,
always someone else to swallow.

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