Part 3: Disgust
The smell of It;
the acrid bile
of It’s breath
has me feverishly
itchingitchingitchingitching
It’s very presence
has my skin crawling,
writhing in protest
and has me obsessively
scratchingscratchingscratchingscratching
It is a putrid sludge
that slides down
my skin, like
sticky, hot brown
molasses
that has me helplessly
gagginggagginggagginggagging
It spools around
my stomach and
washes acid
through my guts
that has me painfully
bloatingbloatingbloatingbloating
It envelops me
It coils It’s sinewy,
lustful arms around
my trembling figure
that has me unendingly
thinkingthinkingthinkingthinking…
about all my calloused fears
about all my spiny bristles
itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking
about every hand that smacked my cheeks raw
about every ear that turned deaf to my cries
itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking
Until It becomes I
and I become It
and there are no
boundaries between
what It has done to me
and what I will do to
everyone else
Eventually.
itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…
itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…
itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…
itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…
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