Leftovers

There lie my remains.

Whittled carcass.

As the predator birds

have their final way with me.

 

But what’s left to fight over?

(for those bothering to battle)

Scraps is all.

Leftovers.

Scattered in the cruel desert

which was once my sanctuary.

 

Soon to be bones bleached

white by the sun.

Left, but not buried.

Just scorched memories

and forgotten hope.

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