i liberate myself
peeling my skin and removing
the rotten parts
the way you would an onion--
where the decaying flesh melds with
the papery exterior
odd shapes making alien landmasses.
only
each layer contains the same
blotches of mush and expanses of deep purple.
it's less putrid in the core, though
and i try and get my fingers
out of the way.
i make do with the slices
i leave behind
but throw most of it away in the compost.
yield has ceased to be a priority
at this point.
