Domestic Decomposition
You're lying on the floor
and I touch your hair
Spiders crawl on your neck and make themselves at home into the hollow
of your collarbone
Your eyes are full of dust
and your bloodless lips don't move
Your eyelashes carry the last
seven minutes of your life
You're rotten on the inside
but you smell like childhood and lost hope
I close your eyes with the palm of my hand
the dust engulfs the floor
and I let you fade away into the room
I once called home
