Kommand of the Inebriated Atavisms

Greetings agent.


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Phage Despondent rain, dysphoric pain what have you done to me? I know that this is not the way that it's supposed to be what made my whole world turn to shit? Why do I feel this way? Polluting me, just let me be why can't I get away? I'm wallowing in my own filth this pestilence of mine this punishment revealing its insidious design no solace in this barren land the desert of my heart like chewing on a battery it is becoming tart if only I could heal this wound becoming gangrenous instead I turn to carrion an old, degraded truss it cuts me up, it fucks me up it's tearing me assunder feel the burning, feel the yearning turning into... HUNGER

My inspiration for this poem was the way these toxic medications make me feel. Unfortunately, I am certified. My doctor on the other hand, (if I'm lucky) might lose her job!


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