View source for I am Meat (Poem)

<poem style="border: 2px solid #d6d2c5; color: var(--color-base, #202122); background-color: var(--background-color-warning-subtle, #fdf2d5); padding: 1em;">
I am meat. My mind is the ocean thrashed against the rocky cliffs, over and over and over. Even distracted by all the memories, thoughts, feelings, sifting through my mind like a torn sieve, I can hear it...

The uncouth woman, too loud, too bright with life for those who are dead inside already, even if their flesh clings to mortality despite their already rotted 'soul'. 

The snyde comments, scoffs and subtle glares as they utter impolite whispers. Awaiting impotently, their dry wicks to be lit with life.

But for a few...

There is no respect, no fear, no allies, only those who will not harm the Nightseer's dog. The hungry beast waiting for the crumbs to fall so she can lap them up.

She is shame, because I have none. Shameful as she is to the Nightseer, as they watch - waiting in the darks, for when he is no more, though, so shall I be.

Keep your stiff backs, your haughty decorum, false humility- keep those wooden personalities, stiffened by those sticks stuffed in places we do not speak. All waiting for the fire.

What glee it would bring to watch them burn, burn and scramble like the enemies of the Nightsinger. Oh! Then, how they will dance with light and life until the shadows sat their hunger.

Bring them to the void, they eagerly wish to see. Until then I will listen to the whispers, feel their wish to feed. Harken to the Mistress and what she says to me. I am meat.
</poem>

Day 9, Month 7 (Flamerule (Summertide)), 168 AR
<br>Anonymous

[[Category:160-169 AR‏‎]][[Category:Plays & Poems]]