Molten-copper spews across my chest,
Casting the beast inside.
His mane of fiery-twined tongues rope my blackened heart,
Crushing the pipes of its chambers’ bars.
An ancient plague burrowing through scar tissue,
Carving out an underworld with my bones.
A pit of wailing mornings screaming at the absent horizon,
Impaled upon the severing shard of self.
Weltering —
In the bowels of an endless necrotic flow,
Nothing left to hold,
But for the pustular obscenities,
Metastasizing into what I have come to be.