Content Warning: Very graphic and visceral descriptions of rotting corpses. Proceed with caution.
It feels like looking at carrion Cloying, festering carrion Skin distended as if maggots were swarming underneath Repulsive odour in the air, pouring from its mouth Its eyes even more glossed over than mine Host of rot, and infection, and wrong Flesh and nothing else It's quite disgusting, really Like seeing a walking corpse on the street Like vomit in your apple pie Like sugar in my mouth I lie in bed, rubbing my carrion Gnashing my teeth against carrion Drool and pus intertwined, liquid the colour of caramel Breathing necrosis down into me Do these words disgust you? Do you stare down at yourself, and see a cadaver? What does that make you feel? Regret? Disgust? Determination? Pride? I guess I don't really care what you see in your mind They said I'd die someday, But I'm pretty sure they just meant never So what am I to do? Pine? Pretend that my life is fine? Accept being the only zombie who stayed underground? No. My life is out of my hands but my death is mine. Kill me. Cut gashes into my chest and pour moldy bile inside Tear off my nails, and rip holes into where they used to be, and shovel mud into there Drop parts of yourself into my mouth and let them pool in my stomach Coat me in mildew Leave me awaiting rigor mortis No, don't. Wash it over me right now. My death is mine And nobody but me could die like this
I wrote this last night at 3 AM when I couldn't sleep. Not quite sure how to describe it. I guess it's about finding solace in depravity. In the depths of choosing your own fate. Sorry if it got a little disturbing, I swear I'm all good. But seriously... look at yourself. Do you feel shame?