âMost infections begin with music.â
â Whispered testimonial, Unknown Patient, Archive 112
Spiral sweet on windowpane, smear the honey. Let it flow.
Curve the sigil, call her name, let the slowing sugar show.
If itâs gone before the dawn, donât you knock and donât you cry.
She was grinning as you yawned, sucking secrets from the sky.
Lick the dew and hum the lie. Every droplet hums her shape.
Whisper once, and gods might die. Whisper twice, you wonât escape.
Twist the leaf, disturb the bed. Ghosts lie spooning in the moss.
Daisyâs eye is leaking red. Poxie watches. Names the cost.
Come beneath, she coos and calls, voice like mildew, sweet and low.
Let her curl beneath your walls. Let her learn the things you know.
Close your eyes but not to sleep. Sleepâs the gift she never gives.
Only those she wants to keep feel the way her echo lives.
Spiral gone and glass wiped clean. Mouth full of something sweet.
She was here. Sheâs in between, softly singing through your meat.
Sleep, my darling. Fungus child. Crack your ribs and let her in.
Sheâll return what grief defiled, threaded sharp, then fed to sin.
Recovered from ribs of unidentified organism. Ink consistent with human hemoglobin.