DEATH Poem: A Long Pig’s Delight, by Sophia Csulak

In the reflection of the feces infested watering dish,
My appetite waned as I saw who I was
A plump, wide belly squealer half witted
Roaming rooms and ridges righteously
Screeching insufferable afterfore mentions of secular thought with a sopping mouth
Slack jaw exposes a foul gullet
Putrid scent engulfed all pristine sterile rooms

Newly minted farmers begrudgingly accommodate my feeding schedule
Branded another inoperative rodent-like swine ramming into doors
Chalked up emotional dysregulation and cognitive dissidence
Show no mercy, just pure pity for the easy meat
Personalized personality perilous hellian I was inside

Rioting inside a slop filled stomach,
With sharpened canines and tired claws, out I ate.
I ate from the inside out with a madcap deliriousness
Birthed of bloody shame made a too-late coming

Out spurred from my sheddings, vengeful rumbles led me to eat
Devoured greedily all the prison memories
Mass consumption to swallow it all, digesting the unconscious gutsy parts
Purged what even I couldn’t stomach of myself
Lurched all over a nondescript bar bathroom
Leaving acidic paste to the maggots that wait for mere morsels of human mistakes

Chopped off my dried out ears to leave the dogs to bicker over my nativity
Ground my feet into tasteless chum
Lick with a tiger’s tongue down the center gouge–lapping at it
Satanic chanting of bile pushes up in my throat

A hysterical excitement of greediness, it is, to feed on flesh!
My one-stop bacchanal is fervent
Constantly fending off of judgmental patrons
Vivacious self-cannibalism as I demonstrate the benefits of such meals
Infinitive dismemberment for the search of something meatier

I swear there is something within all these plastic primal cuts
Someone worth saving and NOT EATING
Sacrifice my pale impressionable slimy casing
Clean plate club

No longer is the wild boar.
I ate her, I ate all of her.
Let me show you my fatten well fed stomach
Proud predator I’ve become with a carnivore’s killing

Among the blood and inedible parts of that gluttonous creature
I lay better
When those farmers come back to the pen hopefully they won’t see
The dried blood and cartilage stuck in my hair
Encrusted demons under my proper clipped fingernails

No one remembers right?
You don’t remember right?
Right?
I was never a pig.
Don’t look at the ground around me or breathe in too much
I’m not a pig.
Please, I’m not a pig. You know that.

Notice the difference yet?
It’s not impossible to say which is which.