I lie on a long, red couch.

A festering of rotting meat in the intestine.
Human, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

And the words are stacking like thick yellow cakes
one and another and the next in the sweat of brown syrup.

They are gumming up the works and slowing the cog of indifference.
Ever so surely they become more of a blemish; reddening pulse.

They boil in an angry grumbling and your mind is damp with confusion.
The cardboard walls of these cells melt in the wet.

Madness overthrowing a clear and witty visionary.
Veins implode and ex with green and blue alter-ego facial expressions.

A nose, several times smaller.  Wrinkles as pink wet fingertips
Eyes stretching and falling and bleeding the ink painted carefully at the corners.

And here it is.  The festering of human nature, however "comforting."
And I will remember you as the seventy-fourth thousand face.