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Pieces of Human Life


Content Warning: This fictional poem falls within the horror genre. It contains themes of gore, body horror and cannibalism. Please note that it is a fictional poem.

I contemplate on how long I am willing to keep this up.

It has been about 5 months, but it has evolved into 5 years. 

Ever since I adapted to this shameful, unholy diet.

I don’t recall the last time that I’ve used normal food,

Or go explore a normal grocery store like WalMart or Weis.

The past life has faded into the foggy mind.

I favor nibbling on baby carrots to numb the regrets.

But that is the only kind of normal food that doesn’t linger a foul taste.

My taste buds scowl at me and demand for more remains

My old lifestyle is nothing but a delicate, rotting corpse.

The brain and the muscles are my personal favorite.

With their tenderness and light fatness.

The juice that spurs from the meat lifted by the fork

Already gives me pure serotonin.

Just the scent of a sauteed liver  flirts with my nostrils.

 Deliver me into sensation.

How can I have these cravings and not throw up from the sins?

The blood on my hands and mouth cry,

“What the fuck have you done?”

Too afraid to let God embrace me with arms

For even They know too much.

I neglect the angel on my shoulder

Just to get that addicted, satisfying starvation again. 

Though, I have never committed homicide

The pressure would weigh on my shoulders.

Hunting for dealers willing to butcher is more suitable.

No blood will splatter on my twitchy hands.

Don’t analyze my confessions

With your eyes squinted and nose cringed!

I have not killed a single morsel

So why must you tsk in shame, hissing,

“Go to a madhouse!”

But you must puzzle yourself,

How far would you go to quench your forbidden desire?

The frozen hand buried deep in the freezer

Taunts me to have an early supper,

 Beckoning me to begin the feast.

My leg vibrates at the thought of continuing this pestering ritual

That soothes my spirit and woes.

Do you not comprehend the struggle it is to stop your mind yelling at you 

to end the horrific, addictive habit.

If you perceive me as a mad man, then you are no better 

if you have ever lifted a lit, tar-filled cigarette.

Kristen (she/her) is a staff writer for The Quindecim. She is a sophomore transfer student and a Professional and Creative Writing Major. Kristen is from Parkville, Maryland and a graduate of Parkville High School, after which she earned her Associates of Arts degree from the Community College of Baltimore County. She enjoys writing poetry and short fiction within the gothic and horror genres. Outside of writing, she likes listening to metal music, with some of her favorite bands being Gwar, Avatar, Rammstein, and Korn. Kristen's favorite activities include playing video games on her PC and Nintendo Switch, reading books, and hanging out with friends and her boyfriend. She has previously submitted poems to the Community College of Baltimore County's Fine Print literary magazine. She is known by peers as creative, hardworking, and smart.

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