Through Our Vains

We have effectively created our own nightmare and I taste the sweat within it.
Our flesh gently maims through itself and amongst the environs.
Embrace our stench.
Fondle in our infection.
The children are adorned with patience as the imperfection vomit fills their throats.
Our filthy innards will be bung dry.
They loathe in our flesh emesis.
The children slowly erode as our skin fills their throats. They loathe in our flesh emesis.