Trypophobia

You must take a fat dead man’s corpse Ideally smooth skin on the back, Not too rotten, hopefully white, Then you must take a small device, Like a small metal ice cream scoop, The edges must be razor sharp, Then begin to scoop perfect holes, Out of the pale, cold, soft back flesh, There will be a small sucking noise, As you turn the spoon and gouge, Make perfect hollowed, concave, bowl Holes, uniform across the back, many clusters of deep depressions, When the back is full of punctures, Take ripe spider eggs and place them Inside the holes ready to hatch, Next take a decapitated, fresh, three year old infants head, Behind the cheeks of a child’s face, There are cavity like chambers In the soft bone, that house teeth, Waiting in these bony hollows Ready to replace baby teeth, So you must remove the cheek flesh, And reveal these horrific pits, Take out the teeth from the sockets, This makes a series of smooth holes, You must procure botfly maggots, Ordinary maggots won’t do. Carefully insert the maggots, In the holes of the pitted skull. Now run your hands along the back, And your tongue across the skull bone, As your tongue passes the hollows A small vacuum will be created And a suction noise will be heard, The dry wriggling maggots will, Gently and briefly touch your tongue. As your hands cross over the back, Passing over the spongy holes, Your fingers will encounter the, Small, soft, warm spider eggs inside. As the skull and torso decay, The whole scene will attack reason, This hideous alarming sight, The stench of decomposing flesh, The sound of the hatching spiders And newly formed swarming black flies, Spilling out of their putrid holes, Will stun your mind into a state, Of confused and nauseous shock.