Tally mark my skull, another loss.

I didn't sleep again.

Paint my bloody sockets, the mirror's enemy.

They've wormed into my brain.

Maggots under my skin for the first, second, fifteenth time.

I saw the end.

The highest point, and yet such a poor barrier.

Drawings of blasphemy.

My specialty, and a simple craft.

My lovely home-made deity.

Not worshipped, yet still revered.

Shaping my bones from clay.

Original splinters, deviation from design.

Pacing.

Keep it simple, until the end.

And the end

Starts

now.

I took the shape of my love to better love myself.

I drowned in an ocean of resentment in battle I always fought alone.

I let the entomology consume my nerves, let the butterflies in my stomach become reality. 

Let the millipedes take my ears,

Where my tear ducts were lined with maggots,

Where my mouth was filled with ash,

Where the fathoms of the galaxy took one look, and abandoned me,

Where my flesh rends its form to compensate mycelium,

Where my lungs sigh with spores,

Where my mind festers away,

Where my dull, decay-filled eyes can look to the sky and see millions of stars,

Before collapsing into dust.

I am no better than a rotten skull,

A shifting mass of wasted parts.

I am no better than a rotten skull,

A goblet to my sick enslaver, filled with fantasy.

I am no better than a rotten skull.

I am no better than a rotten skull.

I am no better than a rotten skull.