I am the pattern you cannot unsee,

The tiny mouths that gape and grin,

The clustered voids that writhe and creep,

The broken honeycomb within.

I bloom in petals, sponges, pores,

In places soft, in places worn,

I plant my seeds inside your thoughts,

And leave your every sense forlorn.

Your skin itches when you meet my gaze,

Your stomach turns with sudden spite,

I am the swarm behind your eyes,

The sickness blooming in your sight.

You call me filthy, wrong, obscene,

You say I’m something to abhor,

Yet still you look, you have to see,

And I am there forevermore.

I wear a thousand tiny eyes,

A thousand mouths that gape and call,

I burrow deep beneath your peace,

And dare you not to look at all.

For once you’ve glimpsed me, felt me squirm,

I’m rooted in your primal fears,

A garden of revulsion sown,

That sprouts anew through all your years.

I am the pattern, I am the plague,

The mark you cannot rub away,

I live where beauty twists and cracks,

And in your soul, I mean to stay.