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I feel something writhing
in a private place
it’s under my skin
pale, goes my face
I take off my pants
to further inspect
discolored and inflamed
such disrespect
it starts to write again
moves towards my head
not the one up top,
the one that loves the dead
I’m overcome with panic
and trembling in fear
I’m not sure what to do
as my eyes will tear

The decision is so hard
but I’ve made my mind
rusty and serrated
the only blade I find
I hold myself steady
this is so unfair
right before the bump
serration starts to tear

This pain is horrendous
my cuts are not precise
a maggot looks at me
tweezers, as I slice
that cretin, I pull out
torrentially, I bleed
what worries me the most
is on what maggots feed

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