Virally Yours

The sound of vomiting to my ears like singing
 now I am beginning to become erect
 with illness I am obsessed in the beds of the fallen I rest
 a fixation amplified the smell here is what I like best

 feverishly vombing the buckets of waste wrapping myself in the filth-ridden sheets
 raping the shells of the comatose to fulfill my needs

 photographing bedsores cultured by my sick neglect
 it's more than a job it's a love for me to walk this close with death
 when you hear a flat line you know surely I'll be near
 to when the reaper's sickle is drawn I am ever aware

 I wish I could pull these strings in death there are finer things
 malpractice forever be my bitter name

 how quickly life does fade away
 but a flip of the river mans coin
 could send you screaming to your grave

 grief stricken family watches on ceaseless prayers for an only son
 "I'm afraid that nothing can be done" the moment has finally come
 the wrath of a god exemplified to the pearly gates he'll soon arrive
 to leave here his husk in this room of white I'm quivering at thought

 pull the plug I'm begging you take the ride to the cold and blue
 the reapers yellowed lichen fingers aims ever so true
 the orgins of disease to be witnessed in my dreams
 the flooding of the blackest blood to quence my fetid needs