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IMMORTALITY

By Samantha K. Collinson



He feeds on me.

 

His sharp keratin bites

deep into my throbbing

artery. He says he is helping

me, but as my pumping life

organ burns and my crimson

fuel depletes, I question if

this is what I want.

 

He feeds on me.

 

His vapid, hollow cheekbones

plump with fleshed tones as his

raven eyes consume my mindscape.

I know I will now be ravaged by

his centuries, and all I can think

is—I want it. I want his pale palette

to all but colour me undead.

 

I feed on him.

 

I let my new pearly whites

plummet into his oblivion. It is

dark inside his layered tissue, like a

whirlpool of living death, calling

me home. I feel my body sting

as my life organ slows to a

singular beat, then nothing.

 

We feed on them.

 

We are Death’s duel scythes,

reaping souls as we plunder the

earth. One vapid absorption of flesh

at a time in this future apocalyptic

populace. Where we remove the

overindulgence of mankind, and

their wanton kin.



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