The smell of rotting
flesh on my bones
I can see my soul
falling away
I hunger for the
warmth of blood
It will still the itch
in my throat
Unable to speak
audible words
What is becoming of
me?
Take a look at the
empty world around us
In the beginning we
were promised nothing
Cold heart
It may as well not be
there
Soon I will
be numb
And the burden can be
gone away
I’m looking forward to
Discovering where we
go
When we all die
When death arrives
© 2011 Holly O'Brien
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