Jeszika-Le-Vye

trails, the dirt bears witness to the weight of passing beasts dragging the corpse of their past like a meal they cannot devour nor part with. You are starved, in the ribs shown through, the tilted hips that precariously balance your weight as though life were heavy and draining, taking no nourishment from the breath             that expands the lungs, you find no fulfillment in the experience as though there were something else. As though there were something else, you starve with the meal between your teeth. You drag along like a corpse already; you do not know the taste of life.