Rotting Flesh
I am rotting flesh. Ambivalent and obnoxious, but content with the irrational idea that I
am immortal. As I walk through the path of life, I hemorrhage thoughts. My naked body,
impregnated with ideals…exposes the divine truth of the defined sacredness of a goddess.
My womb has silently concealed its artsy life giving power. My breasts with scarcity
foster the image of the fountain of life. I rather find them amusing mortals. I curtail my
hips from collecting the souls of those who in their biological need try to disperse their
seed.
As I bare my bones for the people to see that an immortal like me cannot be part of the
"some" but instead part of the whole. I collect myself from the bloody path that disturbs
the ultimate truth.
My lungs collapse when I breathe arrogance and ignorance from the people that think that
they indeed know what reality is. I proceed to live anonymously, putrefying along the way.
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