Decomp.

Each day’s sunrise shines;
against history’s version;
of what is my truth.

And what is my truth…?
according to Father Time,
it is a sad one.

From one, come many;
more sad truths to give names to;
bloated by decomp.

Skin – whitened with time;
a centuries-old rag doll;
missing arm and eye…

Carried off downstream;
against a fatal current;
chased by my nightmares.

2 thoughts on “Decomp.

  1. neighsayer says:

    that is so good it’s almost worthy of your life story, AI. Ouch.

    Liked by 1 person

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