Served

She dug in with the fork and the knife,

She cut away pieces of the entrée that lay before her.

One by one she began to eat them all.

Some of the pieces still quivered, alive.

Each one was placed carefully beneath her lips.

She crushed them with her teeth,

Soon her knife had dug into my hips,

Scraping the hair of my chest,

She had begun mowing the heath.

She devoured me all through the day.

She sat there eating unnerved,

She tore me apart like clay,

Her stomach was struck by famine,

Her hunger knew only pabulum,

The only flesh she fed upon was mine,

Her tongue out hung like a pendulum,

Slimy, twisted and curved,

Would she have eaten her own?

Had I not been served?

Siddharth Pathak | 20th April 2013
NaPoWriMo Entry #7


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