Human?

By Devin Aceton

Memories distorted, now scarlet is my palm

Leaving trails down my jaw, lost. 

Tastes hit my throat of despair, disdain, and hope. 

How desperately human, 

In pure physicality, calloused skin seared and charred. 

It burns my tongue, 

Momentarily, I forget my mortality. 

Am I human now that I embrace my animal nature? 

Mortality is fickle; Animalia was the true origin,

So was I a beast, mother? A monster—If humane emotions never took reins of my being?

Love? Rage? Camaraderie? 

Help me, mother, I’m lost with a gaping void in my soul. 

Had you been here, would you have been the one to replenish it? 

I feast on skin, teeth, and flesh; I gave in. 

Supper had been vile, appalling and distasteful. 

The pathetic attempt at human,

Perhaps a fatality of existence.  

Mother, had you been loving and warm, 

Would I still have to nibble down on flesh that seem like mine?

Father, had you been conspicuous and kind, 

Would life have been brighter? Glowing?

All I know of is hunger, something to be alive. 

But I do not feel alive, mother. 

I feel stale and disgusting. I teeth on my own arm, drawing blood. 

Pain sears through me. It feels human.

Am I human because I feel superficial pain? 

Was that why you hit me, father? To feel human?

Death whispers in my ears, 

Its presence glowing and warm. Such unfamiliarity.

Coldness spread throughout my body. 

I’m hungry, mother. Will you feed me with your hands again?

You had smiled; it was a rarity with me in your presence. 

Monstrosity, you had said. That’s what I had been.

Bones lay scattered in my basement, 

Woods charred, stenched crimson. 

I had been starving— all I learned was eating. 

I gulp down what was liquid, 

I ate what I could. I would've welcomed anything, father. 

Humans–weak and frail, succumb to their limit.

Now that I’ve surrendered to mine, would you reprimand me again, mother?

Blood trickles on my lips; I don’t feel disgust. 

I don’t feel at all– look, mother, you’ve succeeded. 

That’s what I was, 

Inhuman, to be choked to hell, feasting on livers on bones. 

So the light seemed wrong, blinding. Inhumane.

It felt torching on my skin. 

Mother, Father, are you here as well? 

Fear warms my veins. 

Human, I feel. 

By Devin Aceton