VULTURE
[Text ID: You are some kind of angel following on the heels of death. this is a kind of prayer. A feathered shroud, you cover them take their flesh, make it yours. make life of the dead and rotting. A black blur on the highway heads bald and bloodied. the Hunger of Heaven in broad daylight. Crush our bones between your jaws swallow the splinters, waste nothing leave no trace behind. This is reverence. this is holy. this is a transformation.]














