The Long Exhausting Life of a Vulture

I am a bird of prey,
Knowing only two things: to fly and to feed,
There is not much else to say,
Abiding to a cycle of search, eat and breed,
The same, every day
What more is there that I need?

For humans, it is difficult,
But when there is a war,
They’ve lost, knowing it’s their own fault,
But I continue to soar.

To me, they are no more than meat,

I should be content not to die,
While their corpses are littered in the street,
My own kind flourish in the sky

Surely, they are just like me,
So why am I filled with disgust?
Food, like them, is all I see,
Their next victim is seen in the dust,
Although this is no body,
However, it’s still what they lust.

The human is alive,
Albeit, on their last strand of life,
Someone must take a dive,
So they don’t yet feel the sharp scythe.

If they are as good as dead,
It shouldn’t be left to rot,
We should be fed,
As long as it’s not for nought.

As they drew toward the child,
I feel I want to cradle the thing,
They were so wild,
That something tugged at my heart string.

Every instinct I have installed in my body
Is aching,
I didn’t think this feeling was a possibility,
My very being is the very thing I’m contradicting,
As I flew to she,
And perched my body next to hers, in the warmth under my wing.

I gave the heat,
That no one showed the compassion to,
I gathered our food with my crows feet,
I did whatever I could possibly do.

She had no life nor a name,
She’s only known war and struggle,
It was such a shame,
She didn’t look like food because I was full.

I’m the only one to show any kindness,
The truth is kind of sick,
But better than nothing in this mess,
Everything, like it happened, was too quick.

The disgusted glares of my brothers as they looked over me,
My emotion was not invited by them,
But I couldn’t leave her be,
I would much rather be the one to face the condemn.

They would often taunt me,
However I wouldn’t shake,
Even when they used their long claws to bully,
And then my wings would break.

I would limp to the river,
My spirit still not be crushed,
But my frail body would still shiver,
These moments away from her was the only times I was fussed

It would hurt not having a home,
But watching her age,
Seeing her able to roam,
It was like a book turning another page.

When I saw that she lived for her,
No amount of grief would take away that joy,
Therefore when I left bloody trails further,
I could only play coy.

She began to look over us,
When I was completely wrecked,
She never kicked up a fuss,
It was almost perfect.

But everything changed when the hunters came,
They damaged my beautiful home,
It was such a shame,
That once again I was left to roam.

They burnt the forest,
Killed for sport,
Truly becoming a pest,
Like the ones the fought.

My loathing for them was intolerable,
But she became infatuated with these fools,
Once upon a time her eyes were dull,
but they sparkled upon seeing these animals

She watched them from afar for a long time,
Until those tyrants took her away,
It was really the greatest crime,
And for that they shall pay.

For her I left the place I call home,
Yet she could not do the same,
I was left alone,
Most definitely lame.

By this time the war was long past,
The humans have entered a golden age,
But every other being had to run fast,
Away from the humans rage.

We were not so lucky, not allowed to rest,
We are hunted, running,
Barely alive at best,
We are homeless again — left with nothing.

Many of my brothers since thenhave passed,
I always thought their spirits have been starved,
But as I go past the place I once called home, which will be the last,
I see that they have nests of children, in their spirits are their parents carved.

Not hungry,
They scoured for them when push came to shove,
And the truth that I couldn’t see,
Was to provide for the ones that they love.

It has dawned that I’m the one who is pathetic,
They were not monsters — they did what they must,
I felt sick,
Left by myself in the dust.

The humans did what they did not for survival,
But for entertainment,
Just like an animal,
I raised the monster I was sent.

As I flew to find food,
I had no purpose,
So for me to still try to survive was albeit kind of crude,
But I’ve lived for less.

Now that I had nothing, not drive or even energy,
I truly believed this to be my ending,
Until a woman with her resemblance uncanny,
Had approached me, and upon her seeing.

She grabbed her bloodied knife,
And granted me a corpse,
I did what I did best in my life,
And fed of the poor creature as my mind warps.

She patted my head,
And spent time until I could fly,
Said she was glad I wasn’t dead,
And when she parted with me, she did genuinely cry.

Seeing her children and her family,
With her own happiness,
It made me smile and I didn’t know I could be so sappy,
I’m glad, I must confess.

And it was like the beginning, my life on repeat,
She left food out,
Happy, full and complete,
But why did I feel still some doubt?

It got all too familiar when she got ill,
She became skinny once more,
I watched from the windowsill,
When everyone would come through the door.

Unable to walk,
What was left was skin and bones in a pile,
No more could she couldn’t talk,
Or even smile .

They carried out a party upon her death,
Wearing all black,
As I let out a breath,
Watching them crowded as a pack.

They were completely disgusting,
As I felt moisture run down my face,
It was somehow touching,
That I wasn’t, as I always believed, a lost case.

As they screamed and blubbered,
I still watched from the fence,
And joined as they mourned,
Her beautiful existence.

I wasn’t just watching,
I participated,
As we celebrated her living,
and this day that was fated.

I stayed,
Watching her I let out a cry,
There was still a happy face even in the dirt where she was laid,
Now was the time I could finally say goodbye.

Doing what I couldn’t do those years,
Because of the pity I felt before,
But now as she grew and overcoming those fears,
I devoured begging for more,

Tears that I didn’t think I was capable of still flowed,
It was intoxicating,
I ate and I was full once again in the cold,
I had taken away what was left of her being,

Now it was truly over.

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The Loss of Innocence

I remember back in the day when I first started to write, my mind would wander and go to the same grotesque and predictable story line so would often just go to a random word generator and use these words to create a story. With the lack of inspiration but need to write lead me to try this once more. The words were as follows:

  1. achieve
  2. proper
  3. glimpse
  4. swarm
  5. retired
  6. temptation

The golden years that I once lived were now dead and buried. The words echoed in my youthful ears: untapped potential. Layabout. Nothing to achieve. No reason for being.

I remember being young. I remember the colours and the hope. Everything was once so vibrant, so new. With plenty of experiences to look forward to. Even the most mundane people were interesting. The teacher the kids would run up to and hug. The family friends who used to come bearing gifts. Even a simple passerby. There was no past, nor a future. It was the now. I lived in the now. I lived.

Those were the times of innocence. The times of purity. When no one could fault me. Even as I grew and learned to be proper with age, I knew that innocence had not left me. Not yet. The feelings were still wrapped in purity, in the form of stolen glimpses and passed notes.

The end of the innocence came too soon, in that moment I finally realised nothing would be the same again. It involved a car, carrying my loved ones but before they could leave it,  it began to fill with screams and fear instead. I remember the blood and the smell of a smokey metal. The men in the neon uniforms which now looked grey, they found me clutching the corpse of the people who protected my innocence for so long, who prayed that I never grow up without them. Those people were never to be seen again by a freak accident or God, or any higher force beyond any comprehension.

Therefore a child of only eleven stands with a suitcase of the few belongings and the weight of the world on their shoulders. I stood at that doorway expecting a swarm of people who used to greet me in my old life but instead an empty room with strangers filled with empty promises. Those people who once bore gifts, only offer hollow apologies. They remind me that I am alone.

Finally at the door is another chance of a place to call home. A promise for the future. A newfound innocence. A family that promised a home after so many declined.

There was the moving from the life I knew to become the new person they want. The abandonment of the past, of the possessions, of myself. Assuming a new identity as a thinly veiled attempt at a new start.

When finally I settle in. The parties start. The memories gap. Those weeks that just become a blur. And these strangers are the ones I call my family. Even though I don’t remember them without a cloud of smoke. The visits with the man with clipboard stop because they don’t seem to care. He has retired or most likely died but like many things I guess I will never know.

As the number of cigarette burns increase, the number of empty bottles scattered around the mattress on the floor. The number of places I have called home has diminished but the places I’ve slept have increased exponentially.

Finally not long after those teen years end in the fast lane, I am used up and broken from the life I now live. The amount of intoxication couldn’t blind me from the hurt or the inevitable self destruction. As I look over at the last bottle of pills on the 23rd floor of a strangers apartment complex and the temptation for the end just intensifies.

October Writing Challenge: Day 4

Nowadays any view is controversial. I don’t think brexit is the end of the world as we know it, the market will adapt. I believe in a greater being but will never force that on anyone else. 

I don’t have any really strong opinions on anything. Gay marriage. I’ve never had to make an opinion as it hasn’t affected me personally. Euthanasia. It’s important to remember that there’s all kind of different situations so I remain impartial.

I’m against fur. But I eat meat. 

I’m torn on the death penalty (leaning towards for). There’s some pretty shitty people out there. 

I don’t agree with guns at all. 

Gaza needs help. Syria. Burma. 

There’s a lot of things to have opinions about. Sometimes they don’t need to have reason. Other times you must have an argument prepared. But it’s important to know where to draw the line. Just be respectful to people. Your opinions and thoughts shouldn’t be harmful to others. 

Thanks for reading. (And comment below if you agree/disagree with anything I’ve said.)

October Writing Challenge: Day 3

There’s not a lot to be proud of when you spend most of your time, not doing much (or anything for that matter). I don’t work a lot but when I do I take pride in the fact that I haven’t punched a customer in the face. 

Instead we are going to do the reverse. I am going to say what I’m not proud of (just in the past few days otherwise this would span longer than song of ice and fire series).

I got a lot of gutter balls in bowling. Also broke a nail whilst bowling which hurt. 

I didn’t apply for any jobs. Or write. Or paint.

I spent a lot of time procrastinating. 

I was washing dishes and broke a glass, when proceeded to cut deeply into my finger (and other smaller cuts on my hand). There was a shocking amount of blood and it seems like a possible scar. But my title stays with me- king butterfingers (ugh). 

Also, I have no idea how this happened, but when I went shopping and tried to put a snow globe back, it clipped the corner and the water drained from it straight to the floor. Which, by the way, has a lot more water than you’d think. 

So like every post this just highlights my laziness but also brings my clumsiness to light. 

October Writing Challenge: Day 2

I have never agreed with cooking. Love to eat food but can’t make it. Let me give an insight into my expertise when there is no food to simply warm up in the microwave. 
Firstly, get a bowl. Pour your preferred cereal. I like to go with coco rocks or curiously cinnamon. Both good choices. Get the milk. I prefer whole milk, don’t give me any of that green top crap. 

Other than that I make toast. If I’m feeling a little bit edgy then I will have it with Philadelphia or hummus. 

I’m not a functioning person. 

October Writing Challenge: Day 1

Hello, I never actually finish a challenge like this but fuck it, I am experiencing writer’s block and am going to give it another go. I’m following the template above (which I’m a year late for), so kick off October with me and try this out.

It says interesting but I don’t live a particularly exciting life, therefore anyone reading: you have to deal with vaguely interesting and borderline mundane.

1. I just graduated from university, where I studied mechanical engineering.

2. I take deep pride in my binge watching abilities (even though it’s nothing to be proud of- such as watching 11 seasons of supernatural faster than the summer holidays).

3. Even though I love music now, I had a phase where I didn’t listen to music for about 4 years. I later heard some rock music which has since changed my whole attitude for music.

4. I’ve only ever been to one concert because one of my parents detests concerts/clubs and anything of the like.

5. I make bad puns. Honestly I am surprised people even hang with me.

6. I have a hard time picking a favourite anything. For example, I can never pick a favourite colour but say black as a default.

7. In terms of movies I have two favourites Forrest Gump and the Princess Bride. (Fun fact: Robin Wright is in both movies.)

8. I watched a lot of anime and read manga, which I now prefer to comics. It also inspires me to draw. 

9. Even though I’m not scared of spiders or snakes or rollercoasters, I am extremely scared of horror movies. 

10. I want to write a book. I’m unsure of the specifics of it but I really want to write and complete a whole book.

11. I hate ketchup. 

12. I’m quite short- about 5ft1-5ft2 

13.  I’m extremely lazy and have almost zero drive. 

14. I’ve never been in a relationship.

15. I have a black cat who loves to scratch me, then suddenly starts to purr and beg for attention.