Rotten Meat
Rotten Meat.
There’s no feeling like feeling like rotten meat,
That every part of your body is rotting away,
No matter how many times you fix it, it just keeps rotting,
But no one can see it.
My mind is rotten, covered in mold,
The mold covers my right eye,
Fogging my vision of things that could have been,
Leaves me with the buzzing of flies in my head.
My bed has become like a coffin,
A forever resting place,
To live with the decay that surrounds me,
I shroud myself in total musty darkness.
I dream of my right eye falling out,
It getting up and walking away from me,
It would be salvation from an existence of rot,
I would no longer be rotten meat.
Copyright © Kieran Lockwood | Year Posted 2026
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