✷
A Holiday
my arm fell off
a while ago.
when I saw fingers,
gasping for life,
I knew it was time
to change.
a vacation,
to some far away land,
with enough heat
to kill a man,
would reattach myself.
in Santo Domingo
they refused to host
a man covered in boils,
as the pus
ruined their forms.
lingering in the streets,
rats gnawing on my eyes—
dropped while searching for change—
I began to fear that
maybe
a vacation wasn't
the answer.
Cotard be Proud
I wake up—
Or I stop sleeping,
and my body moves
on Its own.
In front of the mirror—
I don’t bother
brushing.
My teeth are long gone.
As I put on my shirt,
I notice — my pinky is missing.
Must’ve fallen off
while I was sleeping.
In the car
I try to think about
what I must do today,
but my brain is dripping
out of my ears.
The stairs at my office
are too steep—
I complain about this once a month.
Rotting legs cannot carry
Rotting legs cannot carry
a lot of weight.
I sit down in front of my screen,
and feel so grateful
to be
alive.
✷──────────✷──────────✷
David Elia Egon Seger is a writer from the Principality of Liechtenstein. His work is forthcoming in Horror Sleaze Trash, among others. He grew up... afraid.
Instagram: @vellaster / @whatTheWormsRemember
