Virally Yours

The sound of vomiting to my ears like singing

now I am beginning to become erect

with illness I am obsessed in the beds of the fallen I rest

a fixation amplified the smell here is what I like best

feverishly vombing the buckets of waste wrapping myself in the filth-ridden sheets

raping the shells of the comatose to fulfill my needs

photographing bedsores cultured by my sick neglect

it's more than a job it's a love for me to walk this close with death

when you hear a flat line you know surely I'll be near

to when the reaper's sickle is drawn I am ever aware

I wish I could pull these strings in death there are finer things

malpractice forever be my bitter name

how quickly life does fade away

but a flip of the river mans coin

could send you screaming to your grave

grief stricken family watches on ceaseless prayers for an only son

"I'm afraid that nothing can be done" the moment has finally come

the wrath of a god exemplified to the pearly gates he'll soon arrive

to leave here his husk in this room of white I'm quivering at thought

pull the plug I'm begging you take the ride to the cold and blue

the reapers yellowed lichen fingers aims ever so true

the orgins of disease to be witnessed in my dreams

the flooding of the blackest blood to quence my fetid needs