Cannibal Cave


     I forgot my name, but I love playing with my chain. Call me Man anyway. It is like a cold, stale skeleton the cain. I wonder what duration it is that I am to become a cold stale skeleton. If these really prove to be cannibals have trapped me, they eat my flesh so soon enough I am nothing but, and quick too for they may grow an appetitie resulting in my very own slaughter for these purposes. Do bones think, do stones think, like this harsh stone that surrounds me does it drink the dripping wet life force? I am not fed with food. I starve, yet my thoughts feed me. The gaunter I become looking like death the better angelic and eternal I appear to myself. Divine spiritual interventions and philosophical patterns. God. I reckon he saved me here, now being delivered from this dank dark cannibal cave. Strange how I can forget my simple name, have intellect such as this, and relate God. Am I god?


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allets's picture

"my thoughts feed me"


I was thinking something like that earlier today. What's left?My imagination, ability to reason? Check. Write-ability in tact but bod dreams of skeletal future, ashes eventually - what remains? Post Modern poet, novelist if I can get these five novels to library of congress. Then can work on the next five that need lots if work until I become thoughtful bones :D