meat sticks wearing sacks of white.
The meat sticks tell me my name is Mikal
I don’t believe them. What do meat sticks know?
Then the static returns, and the distortion sounds
loud in my ears.
Red and black swirl like a tornado to my eyes.
I wake to screaming.
My mouth is full of something and I am chewing.
It is a meat stick.
Why do they scream so?
Isn’t that there purpose? Food for me.
Hunger pervades like a demon sitting
squat legged in the middle of my
The demon rules.
Always they say that.
My heart beats faster…
Vibrating my ribcage,
for not much fat or muscle
I am not Mikal…
Mikal was weak…I ate him a while ago.
By Philip Wardlow