Bile Poridge

My being is locked up inside the squelchy muck that has dripped down within me.

Starting as a simple stain has veined out and collected low and deep, trapping all goodness to be with held from the light.

My eyes are gone and yet remain, no longer windows to my soul, but mirrors of what once was.

I hear my voice, and while my messages are clear, the tone is guttural and piercing to the ears.

You can feel me near you, the way you might the prick of a thorn amongst the brambles; my touch peeling away the flesh from bone so exquisitely.

My breath rots, feeding gooseflesh and misery to even the most forgiving.

I am not done and I never will be

       lost and pained by the mucus and ugliness that has percolated from me to you, intertwining us in hopelessness for all eternity, destined to repeat itself forever.

 

- J