Biohazard
By Elissa Rosenthal
Syringes of toxins pierce the shriveled spiderwebs under my skin.
Mortal,
cherry red
nutrients is drawn out like a verbose speech.
The push and pull
of an uneven tug of war match
drags my body along the ground
which sandpapers me into nothingness.
My body is a nuclear reactor
full of slow deaths
of people I do not know.
I see needles as my eyes close for the last time,
wishing they were cat scratches
from the one who truly knew me.
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