A Symphony for my Obsession (Neatly Anomalous)

Be quiet.
I place another beat upon my upper thigh.
Quiet.
The flesh is singing.
Tell them to be quiet.
Tell them all.
Fleshchild, Rotbourne!
Shut up!
Your endless arguments make me sick.
I fall to my knees.
I vomit dirt.
Then creep back to the source to feed again.
Hush.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Over and over, thought by thought.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Consume. Contemplate. Crush. Vomit. Repeat.
Over and over, thought by thought.

This poem in kind of experimental, but I like how it turned out. I think the ending describes my disorder really well.
Malicia Frost

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