The roof sheds crusts of painting and fungus on my broomed carpet...

The roof sheds crusts of painting and fungus on my broomed carpet

and my skin chases away the dead, and it’s called psoriasis.

Far be it from me to say anything of death.

My room tells me I am dying,

as the walls merge into colourful mildew.

Here I have manufactured death with my resistance to paint.

Let my skin speak.