Seppuku by Zoo

I have not been called forth out of some mysterious judicial mist. Neither was I summoned of God as a revenger. It was your own moral anguish tucked beneath muscle and sinew that has become a dull ache passing secret notes to your dormant nobility. Once being a distinguished man of self-possession and character, you have submitted your spirit as dirt for every seed of tyranny. Sprouting the desires of technocratic farmer's is not enough, bend your knees and pollinate the flowers of our enslavement. Your mind has doubled as a winged arthropod of shame. Sting your brothers and sisters to secure honeycombs of opportunity and control that you will never taste. Aunts and uncles from your family albums writhe in anaphylactic shock. They wail and reach out hopelessly as your poison slows the rise and fall of their chest. Now am I to be convinced of your mental haziness? Selective amnesia is the culprit, but we both know better. Thirty years a keeper and you have never forgotten to latch and lock all security breaches. No hatch is ever unclosed. No gate unlocked, no door unbolted, or fence not meshed with a second layer of prevention. It is the beginning and end of everything do and think. All of children have have finished the last of their popcorn and hotdogs. Half drunken beverages are sat down on bench rests. Families are making their way to vehicles overheated by the sun. The noise of crowd enjoyment slows to a crawl. My portal is wide open. And wouldn't you know it, I happen to be the most vicious of any given taxonomy. Could this be the evil birthday wish of an offspring you have neglected like my buffer? Yet one look into your unflinching gaze and I know this was your plan all along. My instinct is not accustomed to pity, nor will it disappoint the terms of such a brazen offering. I lust after soft tissue caring nothing for knuckle or joint. I will bite off pieces of your smile and whole chunks from your side. Then I will test the results of you abdominal workout. The esteemed definition of a gym warrior's flesh gives way like cake. Skin is easily pealed like a bed cover. Bystanders have to cup their mouths and noes, but I have found peace with the smell. So much so that I will baptize my own pate in your intestinal blood. Scream to a security detail that will only watch in horror. You could not live with the man you have become, so you have stepped onto the Hellenistic highway of sparagmos. And I will grant it with an unmatched bite force. Each gelatinous serving that pleases my digestion will give you back honor in the works of myth and legend.