circling in, into you

oozing out, out of pores
unevenly ragged spots,
spot raw patches of skin
holed in, into the bones
held by the thin veneer

blood spurts in, inside you
plastering the walls
of stomach, intestines coil in
embracing itself, stuck together
food within is gloriously naked

what pleasure are you getting
relishing in your yucky muck,
muck that is sickeningly sticky
save that drug for something else,
something which needs to be fed

"diseased, decayed decades that
have taken over our will, no less"

******

My Beat poetry has not come up the way I wanted it to. It had a mind of its own and ended this way.