Wriggling, worm-infested gut-beasts
Screaming for sustenance
Vomiting, shitting and otherwise excreting
Demanding all of reality conform to their whim
Lost in their own howling wilderness
And then they speak
Mystifying things
Invoking the nameless horrors of the truly fucked
Bleeding a screeching whine into our heads
A cacophony of rotting psyche
Finally, we succumb, automaton-like, to the law of age
And set them free, unwanted, into the seething masses
Full of the same wantings, undeveloped and unready
So they may consume all about them
Without thought, memory or conscience
1 comment:
Worm-infested gut-beasts? How romantic, darling. Your clock must be ticking.
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