Worse and worse sequels.
Tongues bitten off faintly tasting
each other in a curdled vat.
Belated reversion to corrupted norms
singing in a fried wire
untraceable ghosts
decaying flesh with fresh
identity cards.
Biological imprisonment
making a joke of the soul.
Let the gash stare back
at the regretful knife
allow the blood to play
on these painted floors.
May the cells rise like the snores
of sleeping gods
who die in bed
dryly choking.
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