The vultures are back circling around his lifeless body.
He’s been there for many days, maybe months I lost count.
Why don’t they finish the job though
Why leave bits of him behind.
Is it so they can come back each day to pick on his carcass?
Some of us have become like these mean birds
Praying on the weak, messing with their heads.
Taking a little piece each day till there’s nothing left
Others are the corpse that lay empty and lifeless
They’ve lost the will to fight so they hang their gloves
And let it gather dust.
They lay naked in the open,
Fragile little fragments of who they truly are.
Some days I’m the vulture;
I frown at the weak and laugh at their fragility.
But when it’s my turn to fight, when the tables are turn
There I lay powerless on the floor,
Unable to struggle, unable to scream, unable to fight.
The corpse I frowned at once upon a time.