I stare upon the rotten jaw.
A deathly still,
And then a caw.
A silent kill,
And visible flaw,
Left in sight is deaths new ill.
I stare upon the matted hair.
A terrible noise,
And the flutter of air.
The terrible toys,
And ironic flair.
Left in sight is deaths new poise.
I hear from her a ragged breath.
A terrible sight,
And the smell of death.
Not quite right,
The sight of meth.
Left in sight is my new fright.
In my fears I see her tears.
I hear her cries.
I see the beers,
And realize,
I am my fears.
Left in sight is her that night.
I have become what Fought against.
I see the stares,
As my body tensed.
The convulsions in pairs,
As my body prevents,
Myself from becoming what's left in sight.
