Cutting Tool

Is there a way to speak of this?
Is there a thing that can be known?
Some form that can be met or left?
Disgust: discuss

Because they were born to their places and grew there
They should thrive on oxygen pumped into them
But they don't, they just shine in their juice
Oh, I must find my cutting tool

Lead me astray then take me home
I've been all brown or black or green
Awash with air, amok with mud
It's all in error

Gassy and sour, oh, they won't be forgotten
They sit self-appraising, self-serving, self-loathing
I have no more use for them, let me be rid
Fetch my cutting tool

And now I could have more to say
But this mistake must be my way
I've learned in terms that pass away
They must be gone

Walk through that door at this moment, you'll find me
A bloody thing slumped in this chair, held together
By thin, mucous membrane and sore, oh, so sore
With my cutting tool