Twisted Pit Barbeque

Can I taste thy brain?

That pink, or is it gray, matter

That sits idly in thy skull …

Let me fry it up in a pan,

Listen to it sizzle and become

A delectable little treat for me to eat

Can I eat thy brain?

I want to devour thy thoughts

Make them mine own to cultivate

Into nightmares of death

Or take thy dreams and, for a time,

Think of them as mine own?

I want to taste thy flesh

Savour the smoky scent

As I roast thee upon a fire

Pit barbeque!  Thy shalt be

The pig from which I draw

The spit, just upon cooking

And pull thy roasted flesh apart

With mine teeth

(c) 2003 A Riddle