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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