Pressurizing to give you a thin glob of bile crowding around my mouth's prestigious air cavity.

Bloody stalagmites chew up through my chest with tiny wringing arms fighting for control over thy brain.

Revolving flesh doors mark the way to the infected skin drawn over the metallic rover taking his bone to the dead zone.

Replication till the men fall from metal brain scaffolds built in the lab of mutilated unflinching steel dreams.

To the meaning of this try looking in my hole which is under the sewer hatch somewhere downtown next to the towering building that lacerates the sky.

Down into it, dripping with the guilt, walk with the light upheld with your withered, shaking hand.

In front of you frowning lies a face floating up from the green water drooping mug takes a shrug and says "for what its worth at least I don't pay taxes" then dissolve down to your feet.