Vicious
Sarah Morgan
If I became vicious
Throat-ripping, heart-tearing
I wouldn’t feel
Innards-smoldering, aching red, pulsing pain
A shadowed wingspan, camouflaged predator
Flighting down from the outskirts
To slash and burn
Rape and pillage
Snatch up the craved thing
Then slam it down, rolling spine on concrete
Bored limbs stiff,
Blinded.
Yet the tender cut so sweetly
In soft, fine slices
And no longer being someone else’s morsel
Forgoes the possibility
Of enjoying being consumed
Wrathfully wanted
Melting on that someone’s tongue
Instead of hacking it out
And burying it where it can’t bloom
Or respond with silence