Sour Thoughts

It is a part of me:
the sore that festered,
puss oozing into the void
I am,
I am become the
one to ooze endlessly.

It is not a sour thought:
Aeons ago came people
of merciless bleedings
and damned with a smile
I am the descendent
of such whimsical
rain dancers.

The denial of the being,
to live only
is the rebellion
that spelt the end of the
world aeons ago.

I am the reminder of
such grim things,
so I ooze carefully
into the void
never relenting
to breathe a breath
not mine, not ever.