Maggot Man

They were colluding like bastards. I could smell it off them, like the stench of cheap aftershave. They were colluding like a shower of dirty stinking rotten lousy bastards and there was nothing I could do. I could see it in their eyes – in the way something inside of them was ashamed of what they were doing. They were closing ranks, they were whitewashing everything the way that they always do. I felt the white-hot anger rising within me – if only I could get one of those maggots to look me in the eye then they would see the truth in my gaze and they would not be able to deny it. But I knew this was the one thing they would never do – no one would ever look me in the eyes. I wanted to scream out, to pour out my rage on them all but I could not. I was constrained on the inside. I was trussed up like a turkey on a plastic tray on a supermarket shelf and I had about as much chance of doing anything about it. I had sold out to the man a long time ago and now he held my spirit under lock and key. The man could walk right over to me in his smart suit and take a long leisurely piss on me any time he pleased and there was nothing I could do about it. I had betrayed myself a long time ago and so now there was nowhere for my rage to go but back down inside of me. I have to swallow it back down again every time it comes up and have my best lick-ass smile on my face as I do so. It is no wonder I am a martyr to acid indigestion. It is no wonder I hate and despise myself the way I do. I am restrained on the inside by a web of invisible threads and the restraint is complete. I can’t even tense my muscles anymore. I am a maggot-man – it is my lot to lick up maggot juice and pretend that I like it. I have to suck up the putrid squeezings of maggots every day and pretend to myself that I like it. I have to say how fine it tastes and send my complements to the chef – the chef being none other than Satan himself. I have to lie to myself every single day of my life because if I didn’t I would hate myself more than I could bear. That’s what modern life has come to, isn’t it? That’s what it’s all about. And don’t try to tell me that it isn’t. I dare you to tell me that it isn’t…








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