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.