• Millions of them.
    The syncopated marching of their legs
    Joins in a solid ambience of morbidity.
    They serve their only purpose
    To give birth
    And die.
    They crawl under thy skin
    And get on thy nerves, unreachable.
    Thou stompest one and they devour thee
    Just like they gnaw on each other
    When they're hungry.
    They only consume.
    Centipedes.