And so it starts…
You are the host.
You are ravaged, slowly
by the worst kind of insidious, slow-growing disease.
You turn around and round with the full ferocity of a terrible tempest-
searching for souls.
And should they resist?
You spin and you spawn and you spew
your vile miasma
like an acid shower –
punishment, bitter retribution,
when you cannot feed your monster.
I run from you.
I keep my head down.
Puh, puh, puh –
I spit out even the tiniest traces
of your profound, pernicious, putridity.
You should have done the same
when hate knocked on your door –
instead, you invited it in
and it ate you whole.
Original photography and poetry both by