Glutton

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I have reached within myself and have taken in
big fistfuls raw, hematic truths.
Here, on this table, I have prepared for you
penetrailia pot roast.
Take care of your fork, clean it nicely with
your tongue as you devour me.
My organs are fat and swollen with
penitence. You see, I could not have saved myself
from that night- the one filled
to the brim of self-laceration and gluttony.
Instead, I teetered medicinally back and forth
through high-top laughter and slow cheerlessness.
As I roll on to my side and mull over my
faults for the millionth time, I see my shadow
printed on to the wall ahead of me.
Small body, large black drawing on the white.
The wolf steps forward, reminding me to
swallow my sleeping pills.
I ask through my human teeth, What has brought you here now?
and he replies to me through his canine teeth, surreptitiously,
the Hitman.

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