Should you fall asleep thirsty, your soul will wander
to quench your physical desire.
Your soul will sample from filth-
Mud puddles rampant with pus and disease,
filling your stomach with **** stained liquid.
Unfiltered fluid flooding your gut,
poking holes through it's lining.
In the mire is a tadpole fashioned from disgust.
It plops with a squelch into your bloodstream
and swims up to your brain.
There, it releases it's toxins.

The tadpole turns to smog and pollutes you,
it expands like a gas; omnipresent.
After it's poisonous clouds have filled
every space in your mind, it rematerializes.
One tadpole is now one million.
There is no room so they gnaw.
They gnaw through your skull
And they pour out your body.
They smother you.

Should you fall asleep thirsty,
your dreams will wander.
It will find the most hideous pool -
a bath for harpies and Gorgons -
and drink from it.
These ponds will call to your thirst -
like a siren calls to stray sailors -
and show you that you have no place here.