Unwrapped, noticeably blemished all over
you have seen too much,
the true form
is hard enough
to comprehend.
Watchful pupils, scanning sniffingly
up and down, over and over,
“doc will be with you soon,”
those eyes have seen enough
to know.
They say, imply,
“good luck.”
Good luck with that.
Same color as raw chicken,
let me hide away,
from the poking,
the prodding.
Enough examination,
because I am as God made me.
Corrupted.
You have seen enough,
writhing, throbbing and enflamed.
New growth springs forth,
talons, tentacles and praying mantis scythes.
One half shrieking, swinging, making a scene,
the other scurrying up the wall,
into the vent,
undetectable.
You have seen too much.
The File Pile 