I hear you slept on the carpet. Rust. The colour of old weapons. Dust caked. Seeped through the rug. Covered your back. Worms danced. Entered your ears. Your nose. Your eyes. Your every orifice. Ate you. Bit by bit. You were placed in the closet. On the hanger. Like clothes. Skin and bones. Heal. You will. The sinner flesh has gone to rest. Gather. Dead worms. Push them under the carpet. Sharpen the rust with blunt bone. Next time you can sleep. Over the grave. Feel the dead blood wet your back.