That's Cannibalistic

That's Cannibalistic

A Poem by Brenden Bow

Aye, this is a weird one.


If I truly be the subject of your, princess, hate-worded marquee’s embrace…
Fear no more, the dragon’s face, that which is possessed by me,
‘cause ne’er again, it, shall you be forced to see.
His gaze, you shall be forced to abandon, to leave,

since all this… well, for lack of better phrasing, all this isn’t quite so nice.
Trust my words, heed me, you, it, the piss, just spreads across the ice.
This planet, its “oh-so beautiful” oceans, those shade-giving canopies of trees,
and their incessant, almost-admirably unrelenting and relentless howling cacophony,

it has, in its entirety, been not but a mere world-fantasy, a false-oasis cooked up by the ‘free’…
…so you, and the entire country, unhesitatingly pursue my misguided lead.
Being the truth I speak, the simple fact enables me to reave the soils of your body,
your heartstrings and their keys, to better serve little, old, despicable me.

Don’t look to that miniscule, f**k-up of a white knight.
Ride on this dragon’s spiny, spinal bone protrusion-riddled back, and I promise you quite a sight.
If you say no, no matter of importance, it be. Wenches come, wenches go, but all can be replaced.
So think wisely, to prevent regret-causing opportunity-waste.

I advise you, lassie, not being a fool, as you are so unluckily prone to do.
No, you know what, no one rejects me, the dragon!
Oh, so, you’re wanting a part in that lynch mob-minded bandwagon, eh,
hunting me down? If it be so, well, it be so. You, I suggest, better pray…

This dragon, this second of this minute, of this hour, he’s got a new vendetta,
a certain lusting for carnage, gore, confetti-like sprays of innards, innards belong to ya,
my beauty-hearted. Yeah, that’s it. Go off with Mr. ‘Prince Charming’.
He’s cute, but he’ll never know your scarring.

Hate to break it to ya, but he’ll never know how deep and how true…
your psychological-scarring runs in the way I do. Smile, but you know my words’ aim is true.
In denial, I understand why you shy back. Shush, shush, if you sob, you’ll never hear your bones crack.
I couldn’t keep you, hate to say, but it looks like you’re not the only one eating long-pig today.

You ate your words, a part of you, dear dove, that’s cannibalistic.
Now �" that is, of course, after you �", I shall eat, too.
My meal it’ll be . . . grand! �" For my sustenance is, luckily, a dish best served cold �" oh, what a girl.
Any observation you wish to give voice to about the world? �" Into itself, making a singularity, it will curl.

The End-Times, which I hope is soon, when it comes a-knocking, the first raven-dove will cease to fly.
We’ve almost reached world’s end. So, hurry, its final conclusion draws nigh.
And, when it’s finally at our doorstep, you shouldn’t run,
because this was, after all, a free-for-all, anything-goes round of question.

Knowing that, you still refuse? Fine… As you wish, you stubborn b***h.
Ne’er say I did not warn, try to assist or pity, being a part of such a simpleton, your foolish behind,
for those are lies, and ev’ry soul throughout  knows the trademark on lies belongs to us, my kind.
Thieves, we do not like, nor do we tolerate. Tread with caution, so as to not . . . fall out the gate.

Wait a tick. I know those eyes, that mischievous gleam. You’re trying to outplay me.
Ah-ha, having that, we shan’t be, can we? You’re a fool’s fool if I e’er saw one.
Humor me, how often have you swallowed a barrel of a gun? �" Thrice, twice, maybe once?
What about now, today, on this day of blackest Sun?

© 2012 Brenden Bow

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Added on September 26, 2012
Last Updated on September 26, 2012
Tags: Cannibal, cannibalism, cannibalistic, dragons, doves, ravens, love, hate, blood, bones


Brenden Bow
Brenden Bow


I've been writing for nine years. It's a solitary art, writing; seclusion works wonders for one's evolution as a writer. I enjoy secluding myself for days, sometimes weeks, with my work. more..