‘She’s gone’ they say, while she lays there,
the truth settling somewhere between the sheets
tucked neatly under her withering arms.
Decay brings life to something once living,
skin softening - an avocado left two days too long.
‘It’s not viable’ they say, while she lays there,
a small flicker graphs the steady beat
tucked neatly inside her withering body.
Decay clings tight to something once living, thebeat softening - a pitter patter of droplets from a sink left slightly on.