About Death

About death

Decaying, slowly becoming one with the deceased

Decaying, soul leaking through my teeth whispering over my skin with a silent linger

Decaying, grass and dirt under fingernails, muscles unwavering waiting for the heavens to come down

Decaying, never felt like it was rebirth, more like a fool’s wish heard from the shells and whiskers

Decaying, where will the late fit in when all the seats are taken by the executioner ?

Decaying, but were my flesh and bones really alive? Was my skin touched to be gone? Was it really adored? Did my eyes ever catch the reflection of love pouring within with no qualm and absolute resolve? Was I even there to be bygone?