in despite of the visual, a sort of primordial eldritch god that feasted off sacrifices came to mind while reading this, hanging people off of giant butchers' racks or picking them like trees? while morbid, it was enjoyable to read at the same time, and i liked this quote in particular:

"we offer flesh, in an attempt
to be spared, yet you nibble
on the parts of us
untouched by sin.
tonight you wounded us
again,

and poetry was bled."

. angry. sharp. that's how it started

and then a stream of poetry hit me hard. Especially these two lines

*we still have breath in our lungs
(i cannot say the same about our hearts),*

This is bold.