Cephalus

 I know this prison well, 

I built it myself, 

The walls not of rock and iron, 

But coiling tongues of flame, 

Whose lashings cause the flesh to recoil, 

To curl and fleck away like ash, 

My body drawn down into abyssal lungs, 

Expelled through an upturned nose, 

To convalesce before a hateful visage, 

Not unlike my own, 

Whose gaze, in rebuke, seems to say: 

Well done… and welcome home, 

You Fucking Monster. 

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