Polymid

A weekly poetry blog describing mostly Sundays. Written by James M. Frost

31 May 2013

Rot

Hours and hours and hours and hours...
Spend most days in bed
nights as well.

Hair starts to fall off. One by one.
nosebleeds becoming all the more frequent
false teeth and flaky skin
I smell of rot.
Posted by James M. Frost at 12:08
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Labels: art, body, by, deterioration, happening, is, my, one, poetry, rot, to, what

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