The Death Of
In the corner lurks
A dark and familiar presence
A stagnate stench creeps up slowly
The floor and walls around it are tainted
The call of decaying flesh
Summons all insects for a mile
Yet it's bleak contagious soul
Drops them dead upon approach
Glaring after you through
It's empty waste land of death
Are these large frozen eyes
So sad and weakened by despair
It's eyes, they had once known beauty
It's hands, had at one time felt
The warm beat of a heart
Now just fighting and clawing
After the relentless pain within
It's waiting, no It's wanting to die
It's waiting for you to just let go.
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