I live within an infestation.
Behind locked doors and closed eyelids
Sleeps the shape shifting monster—
Festering every individual forlorn follicle
Hidden beneath barriers of bed sheets and blankets;
A Creation of corruption crawling on my countertops,
A sensation that scurries across my skin,
All the while wading through the water stains on my drywall,
He is the vented exhale of heat,
Harassing every half-hearted inhale,
Domesticating my doorframe decomposed—

My mycotoxic monster:
Manifesting and Manipulating;
My flesh is fresh and reddened with rage,
An open wound is an open door;
He walked in with a warm welcome
Of fatigue and fever dreams.
Trading appetite for apathy,
I lost all immunity irrationally.
Four years ago had I known the future,
I would have faked it for the fuck of it,
To avoid the American Addiction
To facades and pharmaceuticals—
Antibiotics are my sole antibody;
My soul was sold with written prescriptions;
I swallow reality in sixteen pills to suppress sickness.

I live within an infestation.
I sleep with the roaches;
Pots and pans catching water droplets;
Pathogens and Parasites
Within the people and their places;
I am staring at the sun room ceiling
But all I can see are my veins.