Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Churrascaria Heart


Poked through by a skewer,

My beating heart is now bind onto the serving plate,

Nothing more but a vulnerable prey waiting to be slaughtered,

Displayed & paraded,

With all prying eyes on me,

As each beat of mine pumped with fear,

Never have I felt so naked & fragile.

With knives poking me over & over again,

Just to test how tender I can be,

Blood finally oozed through me with each whim & fancy cuts,

But no one cares.

All they in awe is the power of the superiority,

Pleased to feel the invisible anguish in the air,

While slicing part & pieces of me,

Never too deep of a cut,

As all novelty ends with a dead heart.

The last moments of a dying heart,

Is then worthy in the name of Jest ...



*Just to clarity churrascaria style obviously don't served food in torture as above. Just looking at the other side of the coin. To each of his/her own interpretation. Animals, cruelty, bullying or even minds of the twisted ones...Up to you.

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