Hairs
Hands
Legs
All have been chopped, cropped
And dropped on all fours . . .
Fangs
Chainsaws
Spearheads
Ride all over my skin.
I whimper
My lungs out.
In my primal scream
My whines . . . curdle my blood
My meat . . .
Layer by layer
How spiteful . . .
They even collect
Shaves and shreds of
My flesh and blood
For fuel.