Does anyone ever notice
the smell?
Maybe they really didn't see it
and maybe they really didn't hear the noise when it happened,
but how on earth can you ignore the smell?
Are people really so wrapped up in their own lives
that they don't recognize
the smell
the stench
of rot?
Are they so drunk on their own problems
and high on their own joys
that they don't notice anything else?
Doubt and wrath and sadness and solitude are eating away at my remains,
crawling in and out
of the holes they've made,
and making me want to
flinch at the very sight.
At least I've lost feeling
and everything's numb
but you still can't deny the absolute disgust you feel
when you look down
and see yourself being devoured.
It's enough to send a shiver
down the spine
of anyone,
even one of the dead.
If the sight of decay isn't enough
the smell has to be.
I've lost track of the time I've spent like this
in the darkness
decaying
with nothing but the horrid creepy-crawlies
that nightmares are made of
to keep me company.
At least I'm finally of use to someone,
for it seems
that the animals and insects
have made my corpse
their new home.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts and Things
PoesieA thing. A thing in which I write some poetry. I've never really written much poetry, so... yeah. Exciting. It can get spooky sometimes. (By spooky, I mean that it can get dark. Trigger warning in advance, just in case.) Tread lightly. I'm obviously...
