Short Explination

I wasn't really feeling depressed OR morbid when I wrote this. I don't know what I was thinking. I just felt bad for not writing any poetry for so long...that I just started writing, and whatever came out, came out.

Young Flesh

The sizzling heat
And burning sand
Vultures circle overhead
Poor corpse
Left to be picked apart
Poor little girl
You never had a chance
Left alone to die
And rot.
Mommy didn't love you enough
And daddy never cared.
Poor little flesh.
That the birds caress
In the harsh rays
Of a desert sun.

8/28/02

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