maggots past a sweet, sickly smell rises from the writhing mass at the bottom of the green bin. this multiplicity of moist white tubes moving amongst each other as they begin the process of turning food waste into wings causes stomachs to lurch. these poor small insects, the hundreds of desperate larva reaching towards metamorphosis, know only the smell of rot and the taste of mould. the slick slime of their silent host's passage sends a chemical message: let me live so that i may fly. 220901 ... raze when he was lifted from the place a car kissed his eyes closed, worm-like wraiths fell from his abdomen. some clung to his skin like bad weather follows good people. an enterprising few tunneled through my rib cage and into the muscle that mocks me every day i'm alive. they'll starve before it stops beating. 240703 what's it to you? who go blather from