p u t r i d

a poem

roses cant cover up the stench of putrefaction

gloves cant hide the decay of the hands beneath forever

optic enhancements cant make you see everything

archaic ways of speaking cant make anyone be more interested

why do you still have all these old cds?

what about these old worn-out denim vests?

youre old and worn out just like em

but you still insist on trying to live in a realm that youve lost all touch with

that is perfectly fine