5 – Vigor Mortis

A scream that drains lungs now fills it
Bulged deep and flush with aged offal
Drown in a black sea so awful
But not a rock or shore to quit

Breathing deeply into disease
Eating, drinking in putrescence
Input, output, as quintessence
Every starving muscle agrees

Increasing my dividing strokes;
Consuming the disgusting stokes.

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