Frogs, lice, flies;
The plagues that crawled on my skin.
Forsaken, my cold bones
Twisted in a smog of unspoken desires.
A desire to hunt and be hunted,
To kill and be killed.

The curious vulgarity of hatred
Crawled on my skin, too,
And in my heart.
There were crows;
A murder.

1 comment:

View My Stats