My organs are a gyre of twisted barbed wire
Rusted fences that bow under the wrath of
coastal storms
Rotting floorboards dotted with a microscopic
metropolis of mold, dust, and isopods
Dread
Seeking inner asylum comes at the cost of
being reduced to sleepwalking flesh
My eye sockets little more than dollar store
shot glasses for the dross I consume
Do not interpret this as self-reproval
I vaunt a skull suffuse with necrotic tissue
and ruptured blood vessels
Brimming-to-excess with a delicious pudding
of deformed awareness
And yet the pit in my stomach pluments deeper
with every ragged breath taken
The lies this body feeds me taste of gelid
soup seasoned with ash and shed
tapeworm segments
My lungs devour the nurishment with a
malicious delight most gods would
condemn as covetous
Dread
This fog smells of putrescence and the
untimely predestination of living
I don't belong here
(2024)
