Metamorph

Here in this place we must be meticulous.
Although I am convinced that your searching is ridiculous.
He's not under there.
Or within that.
Flay off the skin and you won't see a sin.
Pull off the head if the faces of the dead
cause you fright. And well they might!
Because he isn't here.
And without him, there is so very much to fear.


I wonder, now
- with that face in such a rictus -
you regret it.
It isn't that you're unfit, of course
but I doubt that this is what you intended.
But here in this place, we must be meticulous.
Only through experimentation can we get at the truth
and although I seem ruthless,
I assure you that I'm approaching this with utmost care.
At any rate and by this point,
I'd hardly call what's left of you aware.


I'll do it all again as I've done a thousand times before.
Blood, bone, sinew, sputum, semen, phlegm galore!
There is no evidence of him in this twitching ball of pus.
There never is, there never was, so surely he's left us!
He's certainly left you; that's true, apologies were made.
But judging from the state of you, you weren't quite up to grade.


And did you see Death, I wonder?
In that fleeting moment before the gristle and the gore?
He's certainly had cause to visit here before.
Was he leaning there against the wall?
Scythe and hood before your fall?
Sackcloth and ashes?
White horse?
Oh, of course.
Do forgive my flippancy.
Jokes are free -
but you're not in a position to answer me.


Once he left your worth was set as the sum of all your parts.
Better's crossed my table.
I'm sorry.
But take heart - (hah! Thank you.) that you're empowering something new.
Something he could never do.
Something true.


Now, let's get those bones out of you.