… tastes of blood and bone, always delectable. The poor thing, fifteen I think. A syringe in the arm quelled his suffering, quenched my thirst. Immunosuppressants feel so cold when trickled up a vein. They kick in and so do I, the sunshine of night holds me glee, oh holds me as I hold him. I can almost squeeze his beating heart, feel it writhe and wriggle… heartbeat meat is my main career ambition. But I always rid the starvation when I get to the ropes, onion rings as he intended, his recipe lost but my quenched thirst.

And please - to call me a cannibal! I’m merely doing God’s work.