Devour the Weak

Night swallows sound, breath turns brittle

The ground splits, shallow graves waiting

This is not a choice-it's the law of blood

Thirty born beneath the ice; one will walk the spring

Shells crack like promises-the weak won't mean a thing

A jawline sweeps, a claw descends, tendons pulled apart

This nest's no cradle-it's a tomb where killers learn their art

Slick with gore, the air stands still

Each shriek dies fast, its echo kills

Eyes lock on movement, kin turned prey

Devour the slow before the sun gives way