You hold arrows of poison in your wrinkled claws you call them compassion lovingly you tie the blindfold over the eyes of individuality everyone's pain is in order beneath the stench of wind that blows from your s***** wings your voice is not the call of the crow nor the song of the sparrow beyond carrion an eternal death rattle in the most perfect pitch turning the womb into mush releasing the still birth of your 62 years I have survived in this ruin 730 dying days I have sharpened bones into weapons to gut your existence from this earth your meat rotten inside not even good enough to burn buried beneath eons I taste your blood now I am free.