My Intestine is a Worm Navigating the End of the World

The ghosts reside in the humble abode,

A graveyard with ashen fairy corpses

My head with its immaculate ability,

To reside them all, as if a city hotel welcoming unexpected guests,

Ghosts of who I could've been, residing rent free--

infesting like worms

Like fungi spreading into non temporal reality

there's something in me that needs to be demarcated

to be killed and disemboweled--

Hung in the mist like dead butterflies

With no place to die.

take my intestines and wash my insides,

Use whatever you please—

Detergents, acids or caustics,

Wash away my sins,

Let it dissolve in the rain

And smell like musk the next morning .