Body
My body has grown warm with anguish. The continuous rush of warm, hot, debilitating shame. Shame for letting my sanctity become poisoned. The slime of my ever crossing innocence and growing pains overlap into a sea of the insides of all the world has to offer me, as though the organs of 100 washed-up whales has swallowed me whole and began to mourn the person I would have been if I were free. My flesh becomes green signifying the decay of my premature body.
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