There is death within me,
I have known it from the moments of my necrotic infancy.
A darkness,
Enhanced only by the sweet smell of putrefaction,
That whisps foreward with every breath I take.
There is death within me,
I am but the reeking of carrion under the baking sun.
An illness,
Shadowed only by the subtle taste of decaying flesh,
As the blowflies use my body to breed.
There is death within me,
As the skin slip and rigor mortis change my humbled, human shape.
Mutations,
Hindered only by the echoed sounds of helpless souls,
As the reaper carries them away.
There is death within me. |