You wanted horrible, you've got it

You're stuck, in the middle of London,
It's dark, and it's 1347 and the black death has just broken out.

You walk past a window and hear a scream,
You can't help but peer inside,
A sickening sight awaits you,
Pus filled buboes, bulging wide.

You realise there is nowhere to go,
The streets are closed, and now is the hour of the infected.

Priests are calling it the lords dark wrath,
And you can well believe it,
Doctors slicing reaking boils,
Thick black ooze escapes it.

You fear for your life,
You know if you catch this, you're never going to survive.

The thick black ooze, with sickening smell,
You reach out and touch,
The consistancy of fairy liquid,
You're enjoying this too much.

You realise you're going to die anyway,
You decide that instead of being afraid, you're going to... experiment.

You cover your hands in the greasy gunk,
You raise your finger to your mouth,
Stick out your tongue and taste,
Swallow it down south.

The taste is foul,
You wonder why you even thought of that, and now you're doomed.

Buboes appear under your arms,
And in your groin aswell,
The doctor's now at your aid,
You know how bad you smell.

You know you're running out of time.
You decide as your last task on earth, you will spread pain and suffering.

You slice you'r own boils open,
Fill a bottle to the brim,
Frequent the local bars,
Pour a little in.