‘Lost Shadows’ – Cover Reveal

Small poetry collection being released very soon, currently just awaiting the printed proof for final review before it goes live!

“This is a small eclectic collection from an Independent Scottish writer.

If you’re looking for inspirational poetry, words of deep wisdom, even good poetry, this book is probably not for you.

The contents are inspired by various topics including; mental ill health, relationships, lust, consumerism, commercialisation, veganism, family, death, politics and history.

While this collection is admittedly somewhat disjointed, it is also truly organic.”

Breakfast

It was never really a thing, certainly not a warm homely one. Definitely not when it was actually needed anyway. Just a cheap bar en-route to whatever institution one happened to be enslaved to at the time. Except on weekends, in those earlier years. The house would swell with the rotten sickening stench of animal fat disgustingly popping, spitting and bursting; angry, sticky and thick choking the atmosphere. It was a foul stench that took physical form and seemed to bind itself to my skin.

I could never srub the deathly remains of that off, a shower was never enough no matter how good the scrubbing brush reddening my skin, I can still feel it now. Murder victims at home in my pores.

Cheerfully they would chomp and grind down over fried slices of a processed baby cadaver. Some of which had been ground down and fused together with many other bits of cadavers. How many kills could be found in just one sausage?

I never got the idea of this breakfast. The weeks reward. Breaking fast with death, clogged up arteries, cancers, and the suffocating pores just for being in the vicinity. No one can say for sure what internal horrors are being born from this ghastly feast. The external ones, although denied, painfully obvious. All consumed with a smile and a misplaced, misrepresented sense of gratitude. I was the one being judged with disgust and distaste over a slice of dry toast and black coffee…

The irony of those who smugly declare, “Live and let live!”

We’re all ‘animal lovers after all, right?

Yeah, just as Dahmer ‘loved’ his meat…

I’m the abnormal one…

© Natasha Sinclair. All rights reserved.

Organic Steak

Firm steady grasp, I pulled the trigger. Proud and shaking from this first stun. The bolt punched hard at the confused bovine’s thick meat and skull. Dopamine rush from power. It’s a man’s job this; the provider, the killer. I’m the modern hunter in my murder house. Pupils dilate, silent screams from its desperate dying mouth. Just reflexes. Much too dumb to feel. Electrical impulses explode through this soon to be cadaver as it collapses. An almost dead weight thuds to the opening side of the cold steel box. Sticked, skinned, and disembowelled. High welfare organic steaks. It’s BBQ season.

© Natasha Sinclair