Slowly decaying.

I can feel my skin begin,

To disintegrate.

I can feel my brain begin,

To turn to mush.

I can feel my bloodstream begin,

To turn thick.

And God can I feel,

My body begin to decay.

No,

I would not like procaine to heal the pain.

No...no,

I want to feel death at my door.

I want to feel every ounce of feeling in this body.

I want to feel it.

Breathe it.

Consume it.

I would like to inhale,

The Molotov cocktail.

Inhale it so I can feel my insides,

Turn pure black like my mind.

I can feel my body,

Slowly decay.

I've got a sweet tooth,

That only death can yank.

I have veins,

That only demons can swim deep within.

I have a womb which is a gutted Nativity scene,

Where no infant rests in this manger.

And my tongue,

Spits out disjointed phrases littered like maladroit meteorites.

Again,

I feel my body slowly decay.

I feel my brain,

Turn into an amnesiac,

Forgetting how to remember.

Forgetting to die.

Again.

Day after wretched day,

My body is slowly decaying.

But I am rotting,

here,

without the flies.

This body is no longer mine,

It is a living memorial to his fingertips,

A cemetery piercing through theses ridged ribs.