Acrid Canon - Archspire

The thought of bringing to term

This thing growing within

Elevates my disgust

To a crippling wretch

Feeling it crawl into me from the void

Is beyond gut wrenching

It’s beyond anything

One could have dreamt

Or created fictitiously

Can you control what can not be killed?

What is to become

Of my imminent newborn

Taken to a room by gurney

Examined under fluorescent light

Everything I witnessed after this

I documented in my Acrid Canon

Taking mental note of all the horrors happening around me

To scribe down

While amid the massive havoc

After my eyes tamed to the light

I surveyed the room

And saw the abnormality

Crowning out of the person expressionless

Spread next to me

I vomited out of fear

Hazmatted men now fill the room

Gathering around the bed

Admiring a four foot coiling gleaming slug

Blacking out from what I witnessed

Waking up and wondering

If what I saw was real or faked

Or some kind of a sickly fever

The man hovering right above me

Told me I was close to hatching

Peering around the room again

I saw the gore that proved it happened

Morbid visions

Repeating again and I vomit in fear

My throw up made the man recoil

Enough for me to run away

No relief from my escape

The town just bore more fodder

For my Acrid Canon

Along the stretch of road before me

Far as any eye could see

Children strung from poles and scalped

Their skin and hair had been removed

Around their neck they wore a sign

Freeing the first that I could

Caused them to scream

Alerting their harvesters

Pliers and scissors in hand

The elderly ran

Towards me in multiples

Bolting into a near idling vehicle

They chase me faster

Than humanly possible

As I rode away I looked down

At the sign the child wore

That stuck to me with clotting blood

I peeled it from my chest and read it

«Write the name of what you feed it

In the chalk made of their bone

On the brick where it lay dreaming

And see your future»

Panic breathing

I can feel it

Crawling in me

Breaking my water

I grab a pen and as I fade

I write the burned in memories

Of my Canon

Acrid Canon

I pound on the horn

And beg not to give birth to it

This thing is in me

The Boanet’s growing

The creature is in me the Boanet’s growing

The Boanet’s growing

The Boanet is coming out