Body Bag
ravens watch with keen interest
as the swat of flies tiers
poke the belly...poke the eyes first
bickering over servings ensues
the wolves already on his scent
his walk flat as a tyre
vultures circle over the exact spot
of dead meat on a fryer
miles of forest for companion
demons whisper in his ears
post-mortem frozen desolation
shadow dissected disappears
follow his footsteps into hell
a wrong turn into the moor
being lost in the woods is no thrill
a body bag would be much warmer
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