Fruiting Body

In the city of the dead, I lay stuck inside my bed. The house burns down around me. Suddenly, I'm breathing in the smoke, Surrounded by the bodies. The language of the lost pouring from their open mouths, Nobody can hear a thing. As I'm tugging on the chains, I'll be swallowed by the flames. Freedom dripping from the sink. I don't need forgiveness, I just want to talk and for others to listen. I'd only raise suspicion for my cause, my burns throb to the beat of my heart. Am I a robot or a doll? Am I anything at all? Maybe a thing like me doesn't deserve to know. Am I big or am I small? Hunching over, standing tall? I lost my identity so very long ago. Software update, reinstall, scary things I can't recall. Making the best of it, never even knowing why. On my knees I try to crawl, Fire cracking in the walls. Calling out for somebody knowing I'll get no reply. A little fruiting Body buds under my skin, A trauma to the system's all it needs to begin. They won't come any closer, but it's a trick. It terrifies me more than I intend to admit. Left discarded and forgotten right under your nose. How did I end up here? I don't even know. My rotting body is the perfect fit. Unbeknownst to anyone, the mycelium grows.