Last Rites

You are prey, my country; 

prey for an Animal that seeks to eat the remaining vigor of your aging heart, that wishes to rip and expose all the rich evil that supports it from underneath;

prey for a Beast that will come on a weeknight before another day of a job you keep because it’s mildly OK, doesn’t tax you too much, and pays well enough to stave off cold, sickness, starvation, and nothing else; 

prey for the maw of a great bat-shit of a Monster looming above you with nothing but impersonal, perfected, gluttonous need;

prey for a flag-wrapped Vampire seeking aristocratic juice; flattering you into nobility, then sucking you dry.

Your body
will follow your core being
into that crimson mouth. 

Every sin of your past 
will be a flavor 
on its tongue.

You will be 
fulfilled as the perfect food
for the Last Meal.