I ate a beakless chicken last night.
I know that because I felt no pain
as I bit into it,
nothing sharp.
In fact, there was no head either.
Not only that, I couldn’t taste any feathers.
Blood?
Not a drop.
No feet, no legs, no voice
and stranger, still,
this chicken had no bones;
Just chunks of meat
soaked in a creamy bath;
no voice to drown out the drowned screams
boiled in its own furious fat
and now decomposing inside of my body
…I suppose it was the right thing to do, though.
What is the use of living, anyway,
when you’re a deformed genetically malignant creature?
Better off dead and consumed by me, right?
What a life would it have…
anyway
it’s not like I am responsible.

af

(written with pen on paper)