Rotten

Never yielding, always kneading

Just a moments thought away

Pushing prodding, never stopping

Cannot keep the demons at bay

Sometimes wishing they would just stay

Pulling gripping, always tugging

Endeavouring for us to say

“Fuck this mess, cannot cope. Perhaps my time has gone away”

Forcing coercing, always suggesting

That our time has come to pay

A toll in blood, a burial plot

In which our feelings will stay

 

A noxious gas, a monoxide romance

Or not by chance

A medicinal avalanche

Of assisted greed to greet, our final happenstance

 

To finally rot, in our earthen cot

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