I am nothing but decay,
putrid flesh settling into the ground.
my skull serves as a birdhouse for sparrows,
these legs might as well be
underground tree roots.
dust is gathering in my nostrils,
my lungs are just hives,
the only sound echoing
through my hollow body
is the monotone buzzing of honeybees.
I am sick of remembering
what we used to be,
those nostalgic memories
weave through my mind
like earthworms.
the only thing I want is to breathe again,
to live this soul that used to thrive.
but you're the only one
who can make me do that
and you left long ago.
what we had became a deceased oak trunk:
soft organic matter,
a feast for termites and rodents.
so the dust will continue to gather
and soon I'll just be part of the packed dirt,
unknown to those who walk these woods
just what they're stepping on.
what you created.
