They came upon me after darkness fell, alighted on my flesh, sniffing out my sweat. And I, consumed by some grand delusion, ignored the filth upon me.
Seeking out my pores, the locusts burrowed deep within my skin. Utilizing the canals and dark passages of the underground they swim, tainting vitality with acidic dread.
The locusts feast upon my eyes, I feel their sting as they tenderize those portals, grazing and migrating over my sclerotic coat as the Gazelle of the savanna. If only this filth was so imperiled.
It is my posterior which they call home, nestled and nourished by my muscles, growing, infiltrating, burrowing ever deeper. Countless, limitless, infinite is the swarm within.
And ever growing still, for they have gnawed open my bones, they make love within the marrow. Should I attempt to cleanse this toxic horde, their seed, their brood ever menaces, bringing them assurance that the dusk shall never fall upon them.
