Z-oetry

The Transition

The wound on my arm has been cleaned, disinfected

And yet it won’t heal, though it’s covered, protected,

I woke up this morning, my wounds getting worse,

The smell neath the bandage no less than perverse

I’m running a fever and my vision is blurred,

There’s blood in my urine, my speech is all slurred

I’d call for a doctor but phone lines are down,

The roads are all blocked and the army’s in town

The rooms getting smaller and my heart’s like a train

My wound is now oozing like shit through a drain

I keep blacking out when I wake I’m confused

I swear I lay down that side of the room

Palms are all sweaty, my lips are all dry

The weakness restrains every movement I try

I lay on the floor and my mind seems to go,

To people and places that I used to know

Yet somehow the memories are hard to recall

With each passing moment I feel myself fall

Deeper and faster to some warped abyss

With my last ounce of strength I strike down with my fist

And now it’s all quiet I’m feeling quite strange,

A mix of pure hunger, discomfort and rage

I know I must feed on the flesh of the living

Here comes one now, my urge unforgiving

I stumble towards the naive little girl

Mummy she yells through bouncy blonde curls

A groan and a moan don’t cause her alarm

As she skips right toward me and jumps in my arms.....