The it

by Cliff Lake

How is it that it does not die?
The failing apparatus,
A shell of corruption – 
How is it that it does not die?

There it walks:
A shambling thing,
Spotted and bruised,
Reeking and bloated,
This is flesh in full rot.

A clever thing once,
It makes noises from the mouth hole,
Little more than obscene prattle,
Croakings and chokings
That excite the foolish,
And the lost.

How is it that it does not die?
What foul sustenance sustains it?
A consumption of corruption – 
How is it that it does not die?

Rage has been its bread and butter,
Fear slakes the thirst.
Meaty hatred has fattened it,
Chaos is sweet on that polluted palate,
Salted liberally with greed and graft.

How is it that it does not die?
It suckles the spirit,
It evacuates corruption – 
How is it that it does not die?

Children have fed it,
Innocence has gorged it,
The blameless devoured,
Depravity given in return.
It is humanity debased,
It is honor abandoned,
It is decency perverted.

How is it that it does not die?
It is venom personified,
It is subsistence corrupted – 
How is it that it does not die?

So it feeds:
A rapacious ravaging reaped,
A siphoning of sentiment,
An engorgement on empathy,
This vampire survives on emotion,
It consumes ardor and warmth,
It is a vacuum and a pit of excrement both,
It is an empty.

How is it that it does not die?
Sympathy yet abounds,
The true yet live uncorrupted,
How is that it does not die?

Give it nothing:
Let it shrivel where it stands,
We will gladly remove the stains it has left,
And mark them,
So that it may not rise again.
Give it nothing,
Attention has always been the base craving…
Give it nothing – 
Just as it has given you.

Cliff Lake 3/26/2026
Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026