Alexis St. Martin, you poor bastard.
The sad song of rotting in the sun, buried a million miles
below the earth, rings true for every human.
There is no hope for fistulated cows.
There is no hope for man.
You knew this, with Beaumont's hand shoved in your innards.
He stripped the mysticism with his science and
you helped.
You didn't really want to, did you?
You didn't want that hole in your stomach;
that goddamned fateful day that sealed
your place in history.
What a curse.
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