Stream of Consciousness 8 (4/12/15)

Why is there always
Carrion beside the
Road of life
Wastelands en masse
Discovering bodies of those
Passed into distant lands
Wandering souls
Desert
Lifeless
Ends to means
Of getting somewhere
Lost or found
Amongst the ruins
Where birds feed on
The souls of the living
Circling above the depths
Of the abyss
Watching for weaknesses
Waiting
Calling for their feasts
Before one is even lost
Mine. Mine. Mine.

We dine tonight
On poor Agatha
She couldn't stand the tempter
Who played with her head
She swatted at him
Like a darting bat
In the caves of her unconscious
But to no avail
Sweeping the cobwebs
Of her mind
She found nothing
But an empty, dusty cave
Somehow peaceful
Yet devoid of life
Once, a soul had built
A fire in there
And had feasted upon
Fresh meat
And felt the blood
Feeding his own blood
Once
But now only the
Blood-stained ground remains
And only the earth can tell
The story of what had
Once been there