fingers smell
like fermented
vegetables, pressed
to my mouth,
inhaled,
death is catching on
erotic spasms on
television
anchors ejaculating
on cummed remains
intensity ever
increasing
you caught the death bug,
white faced, he said
it's going around
we're all concerned with
the armed guards
stomping
doing their jobs right,
keep it spreading
young man,
there's bodies coughing
in their seats,
taking the image cure,
getting it all down
soon they'll have this
whole existence under
quarantine
gobbling up the carriers
purging the infected
on the screen the president's
smile,
he's waited patiently for
the death orgy,
waited four long
years.
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