I’ve seen your bubonic lymph nodes and your ripper smile you’ve gone
fleabag and I
won’t touch your unclean things not at these rates so ring your parish bell and
roll out your dead we’ll cart them off to the knacker’s yard just don’t
touch their skin you’ll catch the dread
apprehension from a dead man’s skin
and don’t you lay in a dead man’s bed there
are critters nestled there between those sheets that will bleed you dry and fill your lungs
with broken glass that’s a gasping wheezing death a fish out of water
drowning in air
flesh
of my flesh flowering corruption what malignant monsters lurk within? I got
the saint vitus itch from a reckless encounter at an
afternoon séance my
death has been scheduled for
a month on sunday I was lucky to get the slot it’s their busiest time
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