doubtfulsalmon

i've been asking the crows to peck at my cheeks,
pull all the worms from the soil beneath,
but as they scuttle around on reptilian feet
their claws catch
in my pores.
fat stores
freeze into hard, abrasive dry ice sheets.

a vulture likes to hold my lips in her beak,
her saliva burns like rotting meat;
as she peels back
the onion skin cracks
char in blistering heat.
she understands
the scars like
dark rings in my eyes.
stands so her wings mask her size
and her feather tips tickle my nostrils
which fill
with mucus
then blood,
which dries.

it's still forty days until she flies away from here.
when the last bird leaves i'll whisper:
thank you Sylvia.

Eccer

Hm, I enjoyed this quite a lot The way you portray things is cool as well. Giving me a good first impression, then I start to peel what lies beneath. You managed to somehow avoid that cliché way of ranting about the certain differences between women being nothing better than crows. And the vulture caring more for your meat /you lol.
To give some...critic (sorry for sucking at it) I would like to point out these particular lines:
"fat stores
freeze into hard, abrasive dry ice sheets"
I really get what you mean here, but to me... it seems you struggled to find that certain flow between those two lines. But, what do I know?

Overall, if I have totally misinterpreted this. Let me know

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