For Thy Peace, My Soul

15.

The stomach rebels. Coils of beastly hunger and tsunami nausea. I don’t want to see any more! The horrors of a man’s soul. The pungent ills of a woman’s. How like piranha teeth they rend at the very core! The heart’s chamber emptied.

Black, crusty, empty.

Those little creatures chew and chew at every one of us. A lifetime of daily nips at the irreverent, the wicked, the vulgar. So insidious, it’s hardly noted. It’s our very nature. Deny it if you will. But thank me when I come and pick out those infestacious worms and give back what’s left of you to stars.