My body was made of Hessian,
Burlap to many and cloth to few.
I worried as the moths woke me,
Carrying a piece of me in their mouths as food.
I could hear them nibbling, biting, devouring me.
I swung my arms, and they attached to them too.
Every effort failed and contributed to my pain.
This morning, as I looked in my broken mirror, I figured out a plan.
My face was no longer the one I loved.
It was battered, full of stuffing and full of hate.
I wanted them to die, I wanted them to glow.
So as they fluttered around my body, attached by their mouths,
I lit a match.
But their fluttering extinguished the tiny fury.
I tried again.
Yeah, I've read the comics and seen the movie,
but he's nothing like me.
Does he run around in normal clothes beating criminals to a pulp?
Does he carry a wooden bat down dangerous streets looking for trouble?
How many child molesters have you killed?
How many murderers have you destroyed?
Today, I left two rapists to die in the same alley they raped their victims in.
I have to buy another bat because I broke the old one off of one of their skulls.
Yesterday, my shirt was stained with so much blood,
I made a drug dealer eat it and then I pulled it out when his stomach tried to digest it.
I don't prance around dressed as a flying rat
Halfway on his trip back he sees a man staggering on the highway. He immediately parks his car and steps out into the moonlight. The man runs up to him and hugs him, sobbing on his shoulder. The man whispers softly, "Run," before sinking his teeth into his neck.