Slow Rot
As time sinks its teeth into my veins
Slowly, like fever spreading through my bones
Moss gathers more moss
Memories of touch don’t anchor anymore
Just slips and slithers out of reach
Hollows fill with putrid fluid
Stagnant breeding spaces for insects
Who crawl out into the darkness of my body
And rejoice in their feast of rancid flesh
Slowly, like fever spreading through my bones
Moss gathers more moss
Memories of touch don’t anchor anymore
Just slips and slithers out of reach
Hollows fill with putrid fluid
Stagnant breeding spaces for insects
Who crawl out into the darkness of my body
And rejoice in their feast of rancid flesh
Labels: poetry
Selected by Anonymous |
14:47 |
1 Comments:
There's something I like here - I'm not sure I can describe it yet - not in a hurry... but it's perhaps - the mixture of a soft 'voice' and very harsh words.
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