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[wrackful]

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[wrackful]

bird-boned, they used to call me. like emptiness
crawled up and claimed me. like someone
sucked out all my marrow.

knobby-kneed child, skinny neck, wrists encircled
by too many fingers.

my bones are haunted; I know there are ghosts
in them because they are hollow. creatures hide
in hollow things.

monsters make a world of crevices.

do you know there's a bird that spends its life
sated on impaled organs? its prey thrashes
on thorns. on anything sharp.

survival is murder. even
small things need to eat.

- Natasza Stark, Butcherbird