The Worming Hour

False dawn
Thrush turns to stagnant murk
Buries me where I stand
Betrayed
Subversion nests inside
An anvil chorus of grief
Rotting from the bottom up, a moldering abomination
Self-administration of bodily incarceration
Exponential atrophy of corporal anatomy
Intravenous stimulus intrinsically inhibitory
Forcibly compressing, arresting asymptomatic habits
Aggravated irritability and volatility
Where is the edge of the ending?
Where is the edge of the end in sight?
False dawn
In death's patrician hands
With blood pressed against bone
Thrall
Of marbled flesh and rose
Dredges pus from the pit
Dragged on a pink cloud
Bound to paradoxism
(It calls)
Drawn and quartered husk
Of spineless anguish
(When it calls my name)
Dawn; the hammers strike
With hypodermic intent
(It calls)
Crouched in waiting shame
Debased at the jaw of loss
(It calls my name
In crippled tongues, on bastard lungs
It calls my name
Harrowing, festering)
Pale glow
Of antisolar warmth
A faint ellipse diffused
Worm
Worm
Take up wretched fingers and worm
Dissociative dependence
Epigenetic mechanisms
Putrid flesh contorted into a mental schism
Vomiting in poverty, hallucinate atrocities
Dissonant addiction procedurally problematic
Psychosomatic panic static in a problem addict
Balanced on a fulcrum of tragedy and morality
Shed your robes
Lay now, and sleep
Shed your black robes
Lay down and dream