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The Birth of Flies

from The Birth of Flies by Coffin Salesman

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lyrics

He sits smoking in the bedroom, one lung collapsing, ashing into styrofoam cups of day old coffee, six splendas and cream. There's a leak in the ceiling and a thirty six inch stack of old copies of the Metros collecting the water.

Drip drip dip.

Mildew and mold and he bites the filter off another Winston 100.

There's a little bit of God in all of us.

They'll be back soon.

He scratches his beard and his fingernails drag up dead skin and dry scabs already turning brown. It is happening. His boots have been getting tighter day by day and now the nails have pierced the first hole in the rotting leather.

He pulls out the Winston and with it comes an incisor with residue of nerve endings and plaque. His tongue reaches for the void and recoils at the prickle of a new sharper object protruding from the gap.

Echos of footfalls from down the hallway.

They are coming.

Two, maybe three.

Heavy boots, waterlogged and squishing with each step.

The door opens slowly but the light is still blinding. Six hands begin to work. Two on the arms. Two on the legs. One on the chest.

And one with the scalpel.

As the skin of his stomach is pulled back, he gives up the ghost. There is clicking and buzzing in the air.

You finally break through the skin.

There's a little bit of god in all of us.

----------------------------------------
And it’s gonna take you
And it’s gonna transform you
Until no one will recognize
What you learn will distort your eyes
You ignored all the signs
This hole was made just for you
This hole was made just for you

credits

from The Birth of Flies, released October 30, 2020

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Coffin Salesman Boston, Massachusetts

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