Like vultures to a corpse, these strings circle above: grabbing at a limb, a string of hair, a piece of clothing.
Long, curvy claws strike: grasping for information, neglecting to see the body below.
This body: a figure desperately gasping for healing and time.
Both which these white backed, old world vultures ignore, pecking, poking the figure for more, more, more. They need to feed, hungry, so hungry and they–
They will feed by any means necessary.
With surrender on the brain, the body is unyielding, still. Because this frame, this figure, this body is all heart: a forcefield so potent, even the death bird cannot pierce!
Circle above, thirst for her, knowing you will never again have her.
