“Mange

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Through this in jest I pretend to,
I am tending to,
My wounds in this case. Vivid and repulsive and pulsating .

I am stabbed in many of my hearts,
And my body parts,
And my part in this was played only by me.

Through this incest I partake in,
I am taking in,
A love in this act. Vivid and impulsive and stimulating.

Ingest of me, family. I am yours and your children’s.
I am your children and their physiology.
[We are purely biology.]

Though, this was in jest, afterall. I had merely pretended.
Am I forgiven father? My knees have bled out for this knealing.
And at your feet, as if you were my God.
[You are my god. There is a heaven to trust.]

I am scabbed at many of my brains,
And my body’s drains,
And my drains spill onto the ground at my feet.

Though, this was incest, afterall. I had severely partaken.
No one’s forgiven mother. Our souls will bleed for lack of healing.
And in your womb, as if you were our Goddess.
[You are our Goddess. There is no heaven for us.]

Ingest of me, family. I am yours and your children’s.
I am your children and their physiology.
[We are purely biology.]

But what should become of my sight?

In closing my eyes I see the filth and the mange,
In an ever worsening psychological strain.
[But upon opening,]
We change. We are physical then, we are beings.

But what am I seeing?

I would trade you my eyes for your own,
You are so innocent now. You haven’t really seen,
Anything of what I’m made.

I wouldn’t wish it on you now.

You will have your needles,
And infections,
And your unwanted children.
And You will hate them.
All in time.

But everything is fine.





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