Sphacelate
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Sphacelate
If I am not human, then what am I?
I could be many creatures.
I have felt a sense of kin to cadavers, crows, and carrion, more than I ever have a living breathing member of the human race.
I have laid beside my lover's cold body,
And felt more inclined to make love to her then,
More than when she was warm and breathing.
Eyes are the windows to a rotting soul clinging to the inside of a human ribcage, a body that which it was never meant to be in.
In those who roam the forests, who consume the gangrenous flesh of beings that once walked, of those who live in cold empty shadows,
I find that is where I most belong.
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