Rot

Muscles on my body,

turning into skin and bone.

Do I feel heartache?

Heartbreak?

No.

 

All I feel is my entire being

becoming a rotting corpse.

 

Destined for the sleep of death,

the warmth of only myself in my coffin,

buried.

 

'Tis another moment for the walking dead.

 

Rot

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741