I’d always believed that if I shared blood with a vulture
Then surely I was just like them;
The ones that slip beneath the surface and devour you
Before you are dead
Because surely, if they can’t have patience
Then I must be a monster too.

But now that we know that true vultures don’t engage in torture
And feed their lust by feeding off the innocent
This is no circle of life, it is a cycle of hell.

True vultures eat the deceased, so they cannot be monsters
And you aren’t one either,
The mistakes that you made were paved by fate
And while they are stains already made,
It is not a adultery to your kind
To love the vultures for who they are,
and hating the monsters for what they’re not,
Nor loving yourself, for being a true vulture.