I would that I could take upon myself
the countless lesser evils and bring hard into me
the world’s tangled small disgusts.
I picture tiny hordes of scraps of bulbous chitin,
bloated with the rank secretions of their parasitic young,
crawling towards me on limbs, stunted and ineffectual,
and penetrating inthrough my dry and peeling skin.
And by them I do become a gloried sponge of bone and rancid flesh,
my expanding fractal surface twitching with primal repulsivity.
Bits of crinkled refuse skate along my skin like water droplets on a viscous, shiny tar,
and I soak up the pools of breathing filth gathered in my pores.
As the myriad of minor demons slowly consumes itself and me,
I become a twisted, chittering pyre of vermin,
hollowed cartilaginous husks burning in their own digestive juices.
Methane bursts, malignant, begin to build
and shred my knotted flesh to ribbons from within.
My abhorrent, swaying mass, now clawing at the edges of the sky,
is rent asunder and gives way under the weight of my own fatal pathos.
Deviled and divided, I can in many seep
again into the fervid earthen hypocaust
where spawn'd my pretty fantasies.