mold fills
my eyes
when I look
upon
the
chair. I feel it
fill my
lungs at every
intake,
a living
plague,
filling me
with
carcinogens
that spread
over time
into my
organelles,
smudged
black as
dusk,
signalling
to Fate I've
accepted my
condemnation,
nothing to
hope for.
Decay with
every
sustaining
breath,
green, black
and white
pathogens
with musk.
I stay away
to protect
the more
fortunate
bastards,
fuzzy with
self-satisfied
affection.
the smell
faded
months ago
for me,
and I’m glad
because
life is
shitty
enough
without
being reminded
of how bleak
it is.
