There it was! There it is! Dear god, it’s still here!
The pile – that heap – lifeless but sick, there always! It hums and it moans, and it haunts me in my sleep — it taunts me!
Because it knows I loathe and despise its presence; that I abhor its plain and full existence. But it also knows that I could never bring myself to kill it, to maim it — just to even contain it. For I fathered it’s putrid and rotten experience: the layers of grease — and all things immaterial — that now weigh it down and kill its spirit.
So it slithers….around the entire house it goes leaving a thick mucus behind. Rotten stench. Ugly. But deceitful to fearful eyes. The others are blind. They see it not. They believe it is the mere stench of death.
But I know it. I see it. It follows me around to taunt me. I conquer it every day; slay it every night; drink it every morning; caress it in the evening. It devours me, and I destroy it from inside. It remains in my skin as it moves around. Then it returns to do it all over again!