So,
You would have me,
In performance,
Fish out
These black smelly things
From the depths
Of my non-conscious.
Here is one.
Long limp tentacles
Flecked with sparkling mad
Hatreds.
Beneath the skin
Red lines of hurting
Pulse.
The poor beast lives.
We should kill it.
Put it out of misery.
Wait!
Those black threads
That drip oily slime
Lead back inside of me!
I am getting numb.
Quick!
We must put it back!