Hands In A Jar

I've cut them off, took a machete to their wrists,

And sent their bodies down to hell.

I had no need of the beating hearts, the blood,

The paltry core of the bodies and souls and weak minds.

Let them dissolve in magma, let them succumb

And never be permitted to die!

.

I have hungered for their fingerprints for eons.

I salivate over the stories bent into their palm,

Carved into the shape of their bones.

Give me the gnarled hands of stone!

Let me feast on the imprint of all they've touched

And let me suckle on the sweetness of their pain!

.

I want to snap their bones between my fingers,

Grind them to a fine grey dust and snort it.

I want to ride the high buried right there,

In the palm of their dead hands.

But sometimes, there are lungs full of withered,

Unbreathed words I must taste.

.

Like heat likes to do, I suck the breath from their lungs

Through their fingertips like a straw,

Draw it from the veins with vampiric lust.

Demons flee my presence and black dogs run at night,

I am a starving angel with a machete,

Hunting, hunting, hunting for their unsaid words.