Dead Skin


A tiny patch of dead skin

on the back of my hand

above fading flesh and clotting

blood turning from blue to black


Bones begin to turn to dust

Before we leave the crib

Parasites infest us

Early for the feast


From birth and first breath

The slow slide begins

Edging ever nearer

To the ultimate decline


The very earth is dying

And has been for many years

It knows no bounds of suffering

It feels no sting of tears

It slowly, slowly slips away

Bit by bit

Every day


Life is just a wishful thought

Only degrees of death

Follow us through time

To our final breath


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