A meal with no name.

I feel a rumbling in my tummy.

What do I have that’s yummy?

There’s not a thing to eat inside this house.

except, perhaps, a single mouse.

There’s not a single scrap of grain or meat,

not one single, solitary, thing to eat.

 

The cow out in the pasture?

I’d have to run much faster.

The chicken in the coop?

I’d end up covered in their poop.

Perhaps a fish from in my pond?

The time for that is, surely long gone.

 

What I crave, it’s much, much, more sweet.

I have it in a room, it’s just down the hall. 

It’s a secret that I keep,

a whole room full of meat.

 

I used to try to name them,

sometimes try to train them.

Now it’s more than enough amusement,

just to get to maim them.

 

Another grumble from my stomach and my thinking becomes clear.

Yes, that will be it, one of them will be my midnight treat!

These men I keep hidden in fear, in secret, and in such defeat.

Yes! Them, these men, one of them will become my meat.

 

Now, just how to choose?

Do I select my meal by their health?

Maybe by their wealth?

Maybe by their looks?

Or who’ll be more fun to cook?

 

Being that they’re numbered, maybe I’ll just choose #3.

#1 was a huge error, he was my first mistake. 

He died of a blow to the heart, a blow with momentum and strength,

he died in the moonlight, a blow with a stake.

#2 was miscalculated and I judged all wrong,

he turned out to be too loud.

I came to the conclusion to burn him into a thick, black cloud.

But #3, yes he will work fine. He was fit, and willing, he’d always been a favorite, 

he would do just fine.

 

Now that I have chosen, 

What is there left to do? 

I’ll have to think, to gather my wits, 

so as to still see sleep before 2.

 

A list of ingredients, 

a list of preparations, 

a recipe of sorts, 

a list full of appetizing actions.

I could hardly wait to get started.

 

He’ll scream through the tenderization, 

I’m sure he’ll still be aware as I begin butchorizatioin.

I’ll leave him to marinate whole while I’m preparing my spices.

I’m sure there’s a more merciful way of being killed, 

but my strong point has never been niceness.

 

While he simmers with my roux

I’ll be dancing over my stew.

And while my heart palpitates,

I can hardly wait!

This meal has filled my dreams, 

it’s always felt obscene.

This aroma ignites my senses,

the meal is finally real!

 

Now, finally, while I’m dining, 

on this stew that feels divining, 

It feels so close to fate,

because this is the most tasty stew I’ve ever ate.

 

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I’ll bestow you this, swain:

Seized while unaware and vulnerable,

the elixir I’d been put on to “help” me had affected my instincts;

my doors were wide open.

Before I was ever narcotized,

before I was paying someone to fill my basket with wishes,

that same basket I had dropped so long ago, was empty, and I planned to keep it that way.

I know it’s all worthless when put to use in the real world.

No one in this dominion wants your invisible wishes, or that tattered old basket.

Sure, they postulate, surmising an oasis that appears in the most preposterous location…

Like, they are selling you time in a padded room that can appear anytime you have a fit.

Then you run to it and it’s got everything you think you need, and it feels safe.

There’s hope, trust, forgiveness…anything seems possible in this padded room they are pushing on you.

In this sanctuary that seems all but imagined, something will happen.

“What happened to me?”, you ask.

Some fortifications that were erected as absolute hindrances,

forged in order to ensure safety from all I’ve survived; don’t want to survive it again and don’t think I could.

But they come down, all the safety glass, the nets, the barricades, and I was left exposed.

Hook, line, and sinker, cast into the middle of the ocean and left there, dangling with “bait” written all over you.

I will say this:His timing was perfect, because I had been buying what my psychotherapist was trafficking, pushing, like the newest high on the streets..

I hand fed him all the ammo he needed straight into his clip.

I ran to the target.

I tore it down and practically begged him to use me instead.

So, of course he did, because he’s a bottom feeder and they aren’t finicky eaters…

not in the least…

because once I lured him with all that material, he’d lured me into that denigration he wove like silk…

he wove it right around my neck, my hands, my feet…

Just like it was a prelude to my most precious, fairy tale come true.

After he’d made sure I was secured in his ingot,

he came close to me, or said he did, because the rest is lost on me and I’m still reeling, giddy even, I don’t remember a thing.

once he was close enough to kiss me, he took a taste of me instead, a nip, a bite.

You see, what I didn’t know and what didn’t even occur to me is that he’s an emotional predator. the worst kind because they take what they’ve accumulated through bleeding bits of truth and hurt from you through a lie.

He was so indiscriminate that he devoured even my most rotten meat; the meat of my heart. Though it was, almost inedible. Toughed up from being broken so much, mishandled, and thrown away like common litter.

I try to know that those parts of me that are dysfunctional, fractious, and broken, it may even not be my fault, but just try and tell me that. I dare you.

yet these things still managed to turn parts of me acrid and would never have been edible.

Not to anyone, no one, only even lower life forms than him…if those even exist.

but for him it was as if it were a feast fit for a King.

So, he gorged himself on me; bloating already.

It wasn’t until then that my brain finally let me in, divulging all of it, finally.

with someone like Me, he knew precisely what he was doing.

Psychological sadism, and I was his prey.

This is the act of pirating someones hopes, fears, dreams, and all I’d worked so hard to ameliorate.

Now, it’s all gone again.

and if that wasn’t enough,

it was never enough,

it wasn’t sufficient to have already ruined the whole of me that I’d become, and had been working so hard on…

as he drifted towards the door,

he was emitting an air of stench,

it smelled like elation, exaltation, glory…

He took one last look back at the mess he’d made of me,

and just like a one night stand,

the nameless stranger in the morning to accompany your hangover,

he halts and looks down at something, something of great interest, but I can’t see what it is.

Then he smiles that toothy smile that was still hosting a party to welcome my rotten flesh between every tooth…

Then he picks up the object of such great interest.

It’s my remote control, the all in one universal one.

It controls everything and nothing works without it,

and so, he took it…barely even slowing his gait or missing a beat,

like he’s done it a million times, and he probably has.

I’m just one more…

and I’m sure there would be even more…except,

because between just us,

he’s just feasted on feelings that I’d never even felt,

me being as detached as I am…

and I know that since he didn’t get to devour the real thing, only the superficial acts of what I thought they should be portrayed.

he’s digesting the toxins that had taken over me so many years ago…

and he’s now just hours from ending up just like he’d made me…

a mess.