Your hands shake -

the brains have probably gone to your head.

You used to be so steady,

painting the china teacups that now threaten

to join the rest that have found

broken homes on your living room floor.

You laugh -

a great maniacal one,

you’re hungry and I’m fresh meat.

But you wouldn’t dare eat your twin,

food shortages be damned.

I remember long before -

well long before you started eating the Regulars anyway,

and we would travel together, trading sentry duty.

All you could think about was painting.

All I could think about was surviving.

But then we found this house -

blood spattered shutters, nonexistent windows,

graves in the back yard.

We’d never been separated before but

You promised you wouldn’t eat me if

I promised to bring you paint.

I look at the walls and see

my gifts have been used.

If only my face was melting,

then you would have had my likeness perfectly.