Escapism as a form of affection
Even when I close my eyes I can feel my disfigurements emerging
My head is too heavy for sleep

The oozing, the subtle sting, the infinite burning, the bandages; life pours out of my sutures and gaping incisions
My real self is a part of my past

I cannot feel my face
I cannot save myself from my thoughts
I am as much of a ******* as I am a parasite; flesh is the ultimate interloper and my organs are divided into spheres of influence

My body is colonized and turned into the birthplace of my disease