Seven shades of rot,

Fester in your skin.

Six pustules bloom,

Puckering with sin.

Five maggots writhe,

Chewing gluttons made.

Four nerves are tied,

Knotted, split and frayed.

Three eyes twitch,

Rolling in their sockets.

Two hungry wyrm,

Slithering from pockets.

One heart leaps,

Jostled in its cage.

Nil yawning wide,

Devouring the unmade.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 24th of Chakros, in the year 494 MA.