3/19/2025 - i can feel my insides rotting
i can feel my insides rotting
my face is withering and i can't stop it
or rather
i won't
i've accepted my fate
and it was of my own choosing.
my intestines churn and
my stomach rumbles,
my fingernails lengthen
as my ribs weaken
my thumbs have turned grey and
my face remains the same.
a tremble, steady
as they go in a time long away
my hands push up, up, up
they caress my cheek,
my nose,
my chin,
and they return with the scent
and feel
and look
of rot.
i can feel my insides rotting
but i do not see it
i am not ill, yet
this body is a prison and i must be let free.
my visage is a commercial
eternally playing
the television is not plugged in and
the cord is wrapped around my wrists
the wrists of a person,
or maybe not even,
of some thing with my senses
but not my feel.
my insides have rotted
surely they must have
because how else could i explain
the pit in my stomach when
she looks in my eyes,
her eyes because they can't be mine
her insides decorate my peripheral vision and
the truth becomes clearer than the liquids that seep
my insides are rotting, have rotted, are rot
i feel them
in
and out