II

the rot
inside never seen
bloodless wounds untouchable
by any mortal hand

a stench too foul
for mortal senses sends
them into a dirty rage

they sense
they sense it
they send me away

awakening a longing
for respite
i'll spite them all
if i can find it

can it pluck out
maggots writhing
in my head
when they aren't even there
can it leech putrid blood
that's already clean
can it mend a tattered mind
whose fibers remain untorn

i fear that it is just a myth
a place that can't be found
but just perhaps
an unreal place
may salve a wound that isn't really there