There is doom up there.
I feel it in the dead of the air
I see it snaring and snarling
Staring and startling
All I am.

Detrimental to my
Mentality.
I am feckless
Forlorn,
Frustrated.

Each vulture in the mind
Picking at flesh
In the center of my skull.

Buzzards Buzzing,
Beaks bulging,
Beating, breaking.

Vultures tickling quietly,
Perched in each crevice of my
Gray brain.
Thick white talons
Squelching me
In a silent gaze.