Public Decomposition // If I Glow, Will She Come Back?
Public Decomposition
King Hobgoblin Sleeping
Thank you all for coming here today. I ask you
to watch as the small feast on me, leave nothing
but ribs. Let larva grow from my flesh. I want
something to be born out of me. Repentance can
still be paid. Do not cry my masses, for I will birth
from myself the most grotesque things, bubbly purple
mold and mushrooms from my heart. There is beauty
in the bile of stomach boiling over skin. I will become
heaven for beetles. Don’t worry my subjects,
this is what I have always yearned for, grass slowly
reclaiming me as worms find their way back
home. Witness me, the smell, and smile.
If I glow, will she come back?
Nightly, I watch my roommate crack
her boyfriend’s back, breathe in till
breath shakes spit to carpet.
Always the same procession of release.
Prayer: the act of praying. Each pop-
rock shift of my vertebrae will force bile
to my throat. Can I confess something?
Old friends used to beat me bloody
for kissing Emily. Disinfect me.
Catharsis will never come, leaves me tired.
Should I be snapped back into place?
Or would I end up a smashed firefly,
a glowing puddle of pulpy light?
