the impurities

xxii. wilderness

I want to escape this body,
This terrible place
—Ruined and spoiled and ugly—
My throat is on fire
Coated in blood
From screaming for so long—
Cut it away, burn it away
Until the bones and the ashes
Are left in the dirt
And the worms have nothing else
To eat except cold cinder
—Let it rot—let it rot—