H.R.Powell

Host

There are things beneath my skin,

Things that cannot get out

Things i cannot see

Through my body they move

They torment me

I scratch at them, they bleed out

I pull and rub and brush them away,

But their bodies remain

They rot into my flesh

And they burst from my arms and my face

My back and my shoulders

I can’t get rid of them

I can’t get rid of them

They have become me

I have become the Host of a colony

Of thoughts