Futility in clawing at my flesh, a pain that runs deeper than veins and tissue. My organs, the womb to a terror within. A scourge unto this sterile world, I am a carrier. Unearthing this sickening truth, fingers embedded within my infected wounds. Pustules, the mark of their movement; trailing sluggishly within my vessels. Pestilence, my becoming. From the bowers of man, this formless terror shall ascend. Skin wearer, your form deceives me. Your hundreds of malefic voices taunting in harmonious tongues. Sores, enumerated by their feastings. This living decay, a tide of tainted waters upon pure sands. My secret runs deeper than the veins beneath my skin. With eyes that watch from the bottom of fed upon sockets, this usurping world has irked my every sense. Cloaked beneath this drape-like cloth, anticipation moving decayed legs, this husk of skin deteriorates. I shall ascend this edifice, and with quick step, unleash this infestation upon an unknowing, unclean world.