Like a cool and fluttering wind, your disease blew across my existence.
A sense of loathing filled my soul, a lingering of a foulness that could have been the stench of an oozing sore, or a cancerous mold.
Stagnant, your being thought to be, and inside that pool of thought, a weird or wiggly form began to take shape.
It was within moments of your arrival that I took notice, guarding myself from your infection. I tried to warn others of the potential of a pandemic, but they were too busy playing with themselves and others to pay attention.
Slowly, you worked your way into the sweat glands and brain cells of the innocent. I alone was left to watch as civilization deliquesced, like so many decaying mushrooms in an old and musty forest.
It wasn’t so bad though. Diseases are sometimes a good thing, taking us back to a molecular level to start over again. Like a big bang that reverses every so often, quarks and sparks flying.
Or a death that becomes a birth, the motion reversed, the dripping, gaping mouth of muscle pushing us through the feathered womb into forever.
Susan Isabella Sheehan-Repasky.
“Art Is The Perception Of An Altered Reality©”
Copyright 2007 Flicker Light Studio™