I
have an endless craving for the flesh
like
the walkers
my
skin is mottled and eyes bleeding red
as
the walkers
come
the apocalypse, I'll blend right in
with
the walkers
obsessed
with food, eating, need to be fed
that's
all I think of as the living dead
Octave
Poem
Copyright
© 2014 by Patrick B Vince
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