Slayer Poem by Sarah Weber

Oh well, this carcass can't
last too much longer than my days.
I'll lick up the last of the blood
and be straight on my way, no worry
I eat away at the shoals of these bones
eating away at yours is all the very easy
I keep bottled up, corked in, a stubborn b*tch
for my seams are on a brink, a tip top
no stopping, brink. On the edge, chopped endless
ease, the feeling of slippery flippery eels in
my veins is, tolerated enough to say here
The excitment I should see, hear, feel, smell
is sitting on the end of your nose-you tip up
Much farther than the reach of my hands
I am a stench, a wrech, a no good beaver boy
I'll never be for anything, EVER. Get rid of me
cause you know the worst, you run from the day
that your eye will be looking to me
as I lap up the last of your blood.