A fly crawled into my head and nested.
Its eggs spread out until the shimmering blue
Thing sat in every corner of my being,
rubbing its legs a billion times over.
I lay down in the witch's frying pan.
She could only just make me out
With her cloudy eyes but she cooed
That I was precious, beautiful.
I am breakfast, riddled with flies.
I slipped into the minus, the mud and the saliva.
The sucking is so loud, I can no longer hear.
My only hope is my blue shimmering lover.
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