Skin melts away from my bones,

Like sugar from a candy-apple,

Pooling like bubbling wax,

On the grey, flag-stoned floor,

Flesh looks like it's bruised and bleeding,

Though really all its layers are rotting,

Mould, like an orange left in the august heat,

The bones, yellowing like fangs,


Until I'm just a broken pile of remains,

Decaying like an owl's prey,

In a mahogany box past layers of earth.


The End

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