Accursed are they who live
heads turned away,
twisted backwards,
swollen eyes peering
inwards,
tongues grey with night-moss,
licking
dog-like at the sores of others,
leper-fingers feeling-less,
pointing
to what lies beyond the circles
of dead penises and dry vaginas
excreting
desires denied;
accursed in their certainty
are they,
the devourers of pink life.
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