flesh-eating beetles nibble kindly away
at all the useless things that make me, me
with the desperate appetition of a drunken diner dive
I’m food for 2 am, I’m food for thought
Carve away at this carnal cosmic joke
Make maggot-meat of the master’s puppet
Toe-jam to wet the palate
Work your way to my botched brain in one last shriving wave
Plucky little scavengers
Will defecate my memories
Dig in, my famished family
Voracious little guests
I long to be your chitin shell
by this time next week
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
For this homesick fool
It’s degradation or bust