Feeding Season

I can feel the
pins and needles
coursing through
my veins,
romping callously
amongst the ventricles
in my bent dermis
as if they owned
the joint,
and paid the
same rent I do,

and their cagey
intentions hint
at a more sinister
reality – one
that means to
run me over a cliff,
and into infinite oceans
with rusty shackles
tied to my bleeding feet

© Christopher Rupley 2015

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