When I See My Own Cadaver

my carnivore self is displayed out in the open I tear a bovine’s tendons and muscle with gusto my teeth coming up red and bloody; it is the human way, is it not? my mouth, throat and gullet gulp away, unaware of the undigested meat already in my colon. I plan an organized kindness parade, not caring about cows Or pigs, unless I am anticipating bacon and pork roast. I seek direction from no one; feeling all-powerful. I am a carnivore, am I not? This is validation enough. My cologne is a combo of unrecognizable floral mixes. I look pretty, therefore, my killing ways can be forgiven. Later today I can do a bit of wind surfing or fall off my skates. My concentration is no longer on my food, but on life. Why am I never satisfied? Where does my depression originate? My dendrite stream never realizes I am picking up on animal psyche. In a subconscious way, my body is reacting to their misery. When they get brain smashed, so they can be carved into steaks. I lick my lips, enjoying Heinz 57, wishing I can figure out what is wrong. My soul knows, but cannot share it with me on this plane. Will I understand post death when I see my own cadaver? Will my corpse make me realize how uncivilized meat eating is? Will I be depressed as I head toward heaven? Or will I be heading to a lower place?