Fates

Crusty mud 
cracks 
on his back
black dirt dried by a full moon
jailed in a windowed cell. 
A visceral yell 
crawled down his spine
Arching violently
Over prostrated fetal bones 
In cold 
whiplash 
His back 
Snaps. 
His eyes awaken. 
Yet vacant. 
A bloodied 
Stare. 
His body, 
Stiffened 
In blood lust
Naked and bare.
They were here. 
He felt them in the twilight.
Feeding on him for the night. 
Broken scabs and new sores
Remain.
The silence was taken.
The new moon has spoken.
It is time. 
He must show,he must listen, 
He must look to the walls
To read from his scars.
His fate 
Must be told
Now. 
They
Will feed 
Again.