The lingering scirrhus begins to harden

As the insides fall prey to putrefaction

Rotting tissue turns to mush and pulp

As your mind is torn by encephalitis



Your cavities rot with ulcers

Your infected inflammations torn

Your gizzards eaten by incursive decay

You're infernally rotten to the gore...



Juices digested from each pus-swollen pore

Insatiable hunger as I feast on the gore

Nothing gives me greater pleasure

Than a bowlful of chyme

Maggot infested kidneys

Are what I choose every time



The smell of plaguing infection

Is nauseatingly emetic

Prolonged spumescence of stale pus

Stinks like hot, purtid vomit



Your body is indurate

The insides are black as tar

Your innards gnawed by septic hate

Now a mass of empyaema



Your blood is caked

Dried and inconsistent

Your bloody rotten gore

Is now vitrescent