And We Fucking Die
Hearing them —
like before.
Still chanting their endless blah-blah.
Notice them.
He is tall.
He is large.
He’ll strangle us both.
Open your eyes!
I’m right here!
I told you:
Leave me alone!
I’m already dead.
You’ll choke yourself.
A grin crawled onto our faces —
it’ll infect you too.
We’ll all die here.
Because of you.
It’s inside.
Through bones. In blood.
It whispers:
We’re their food.
A scream with no tongue.
Mind turned to pus.
Crawl,
twisting through your own spine.
You died —
on the far side.
Where all is flesh.
Where all is fine.
Bones whisper.
Worms write.
He’s gone.
He drinks from sockets —
our dreams.
Slime mixed with ashes
and a bush of nails
that grew from us
that night of passion.
You scream —
but your voice is inside me.
It crawls.
It laughs at us —
without joy.
We were stitched from flesh
of other screamers.
Their ribs stick out
from our mouths.
Only thought-hounds
chew your spine.
I eat my mother
in a seizure of pain —
look,
we’re smiling.
You smashed the mirror with your head.
Stop!
He’s hurting!
And I stand there,
hugging the fridge
near a stranger’s leg
that steps
on my throat.
