Bloat

Withering wind washed wastes

writhing amongst the chill.

All beneath them churned

and all above them stilled.

A sullen silence dawned upon the world.

A stagnation that oozed like a sore

bleeding puddles that retched vile dreams.

Dreams that bred with themselves

dreams that grew fat with the leprous lust for purer things.

Bulbous bulging blubbering blobs

driven only to possess, to feel what mother could not impress

and doomed forever to regress.

Pulsating, throbbing, peeling, rotting.

A wall three hundred million faces high

laughs a crooked laugh as it melts into itself.

“Glory!” they wail!

As the flesh consumes them whole.

The bloated tic, six infant corpses wide

rolls back upon its side only to burst

and release all those pretty dreams

It had gobbled up inside.

Feeding, like pigs at a trough,

upon the laments of smiling mugs.

All the world was one thought

and then the world was naught but dust.