There is something wrong behind my ribs. It is sticky as tar and clinging to my lungs. It is sharp as knives and cutting my esophagus. It is spreading as rot and blocking my veins.
"Mama! Mama! Help me!". She tries to kiss it better but it is she who gave me this wrongness and it only gets stronger beneath her touch.
The Wrongness Grows.
"Doctor! Doctor! Help me!" He does every test he knows but this wrongness has long since become made of the same stuff as me and he cannot see it.
The Wrongness Grows.
"Friends! Friends! Help me!" They do what they can but the wrongness is harshly tangled and sticks to their hands when they try to pull me from the web.
The Wrongness Grows.
The Wrongness Grows.
The Wrongness Grows.
It drowns me a hundred miles from sea. It buries me above ground. It desicates me underwater. It freezes me in fire. It covers my mouth so I cannot speak of it. It covers my mouth so the only ones to hear my pleading are it and a god neither of us believes in.
