where we breathe uncomforts.
We see and hear the walklings
skip across our heads;
feel their heels dig
into our existence.

Souls are just like flesh
except unblemished.
They rip open easy–
ooze out into the air.
Where they become
less than intended.

Their rotting wounds
satiate our thoughts
until we can no longer
think and reason and sense
our beginnings and ends
hence eternity is Hell.

I felt the exact moment or thereabouts
when my soul slit open–

I found a cockroach in the kitchen.
Squashed it with the bottom of my glass.
Wiped its remains on the counter’s edge.

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