#woohooo i wasnt doing all that great today but i finally really crashed :/

[cannibalistic-suggestions]

Rotting, festering on an operating table, under sunlight and moonlight. Exposed.

Lying for days, as flesh begins to pucker and flies gather curiously, kissing muscle tissue and sipping oils from cross-sectional glands. 

Are they opportunistic? Feeding on what’s been left behind? Or did they really care and consume small bits of me out of pity, to show someone is still there, in spite of it all.

I know I’ve done wrong. I almost don’t blame you for wanting vengeance, so you tore out all the terrible things that lied inside for the world to see, to cry out in disgust and leave, leave, leave. Nobody wants anything to do with something like that. Doesn’t matter if we all have the same organs in our uniform human bodies; you DARED put that on display? Your vulnerability is shameful. Revolting.

You want me to repent? I would’ve wanted you to finish mutilating me right there and then, maybe it would’ve sped up my thought process. You said I hurt others, hurt you, so why don’t I deserve to hurt in return? Why didn’t you break my bones in, snap them and shatter them, crush my miserable flesh and skin into a soupy pulp? It’s what I deserve. But after it all, you still had the audacity to say “even those like you should get a second chance.”

I’ve been rendered an open pit of blood: some parts still warm and half-clotted, but others dried to a crispy rust that flakes off pathetically from bumpy scabs. I almost don’t want to be alive anymore, and I hate that you said you’re “above” killing, all of you turning your noses up at the tainted mess I am from the moral high ground you all rent out a place in.

Why couldn’t you have just let me die? For as much as you denounce the actions my hands took, you once had kissed my fingers so gently and admired what I had made. Aren’t you tempted to destroy these tools of evil? Sever my arm and peel off every dermal layer, cut it up into pieces with your incisors and bite into flesh so deeply it splits and frays my veins. Mark me up and make me gone, wouldn’t it be the ultimate punishment?

But you’re not like that. You instead opted to leave me out here to thaw and decay, to succumb to the torturous things I ponder about while I bleed out.

Until scraps of me fall like rotten fruit, and until mold decides to grow over and cover my indecency in a soft coat so everyone forgets, I’ll ferment while I reflect.

Decomposing, because it’s all caught up to me, yet I don’t think I had a stable composition to begin with.