I have a being all muddled up with hate. Things that I could not speak hardened and became my body. Calcified and supple, it covers this flesh but it is not this flesh. I seek refuge in my bones, but something slipped in already and putrified the marrow. I have an appetite for sodden leaves and man flesh now. For bright red bleeding hearts with skins like lingenberries. For the tender tanin that coats my teeth when I bite into your distress. I try to contain it, but I’ve seeped through superficial stress fractures. I am a grail of abominations in neverending draught. I am the nectar gushing from its gilded lips. I am the deepest Indigo and I am troubled like muddy water. I am the fever that intoxicates your loins and smashes mirrors. I am a hungry ghost. My intergenerational body is a bombshell. Vixen. Jezebel. Cast from Queen to Tower to be eaten by dogs in a temporal Hell. I am as I am, as I was made to be. An amalgam of self referential hate and defiant futile misery.

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