(46) The Purge 46

Active flux.
Hatching tiny things
Each crafty pair;
And butting against each other
Every kind of species.

Tribulations in the entrails;
The chief turns his back on the Center;
Outside are contentions.

The Purge

My intestines are coming out of my mouth
And my skin wants no more to do with my body
Peeling upwards towards the god that pulls it.
A soreness has begun in the back of my tongue
That has wagged so long to my penis
Which has blown up like a balloon
Skin thinning until it bursts
Exploding the rest of my organs through my asshole.
My eyes itch and are forming welts that bleed
And drip down to my tongue
Trying to lick my bursting penis.
Long ago, my muscles left their bones,
Slithering across rocks that bite and drag.
Even my marrow cracks my bones with pressure
Or burns through them like acid.
Yet, my brain is numb, dumb, and stupid.
Some parts have fought with other parts
To the death,
Thus, the numbness.
Why can't I die?

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