The Pregnant Flesh

Posted by filed under Written

Soaked through and through, soaked to the bone,
a window opens unto blind scenery, drawing the eye.
Water drops from the sky, down unto an upturned face,
ravens soar through clouds of steel, black on grey.

Skin rips, long strips of flesh borne away on the wind,
color rushes forth, to fill the eye till nothing else is seen.
Bone emerges, through flesh unharmed yet rendered away,
a true nature revealed, till no pretense of beauty remains.

Rot, this skin that cloaks us, hides us from ourselves,
lest we discover the horror beneath, crawling with death.
Split open, this cloth of pink, which binds us, shames us,
draws us all to one another, yet at once disgusts us.

Purple visits, shortly, to kiss the golden pink of health,
to devour whole the body that once was known, familiar.
Black soon follows, sets in for good, throws down roots,
and in the deep darkness licks, tastes and devours whole.

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