this infection

I vomit into paper cups,
I pierce myself with safety pins.
The wastelands are where I grew up,

the wastelands are where I am thin.
A burnt and barren place of force
and hate and rage upon my skin.

It once was green. It's since been torched.
There is no water. I'm unwashed.
The flesh is sick. My heart's been torched.

I keep my pain upon the cross.
I add and build and reconstruct -
I'll take it all, at any cost.

Your coming here was quite abrupt -
I didn't think that you'd show up.