Impressive.
You can kill without conscience.
Their lives are spread evenly
upon toasted wheat bread
and eaten hastily,
with apricot jelly.
Right into the black pit
of your stomach, where you digest
each
and
every,
molecule of toe,
eyelid, and tongue
without a thought.
Impressive.
I wonder what the worms
will think of you
once you've been repaid.
3 comments:
"repaid"? I'm confused as to what this poem could mean. I thought of cows to chickens to pigs... <_< And yet, I am still so lost. Is this what readers feel like when they read what I write? XD
Oh well. Interesting breaks in thought/line... I'm really curious as to what kind of "Breakfast" someone was having though :-/
Hopefully the new title makes it more clear. I was running out of computer time, so I put in a random title. This one fits better.
It's sort of about a soldier who's reflecting on his career of killing people. Whoever or whatever is telling him this is hinting that he'll be repaid for killing other people by being killed himself.
However, it can be interpreted in a number of ways. When I originally wrote this, I don't remember what I was thinking, but it wasn't what I now see in this poem.
*nods* It does make more sense now.
I like your take on this now that I can understand the connection. It's strange to see an objective look on something otherwise so cold-blooded in thought.
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