A Waiting Game

an endless sea of taupe nothingness,

expansive and featureless,

laps at my edges and rots away my frame.

 

with the seasons, I expand, contract,

crumble, and waste, disintegrating

slowly into the void.

 

it is difficult to pretend this bothers me

 

the apathy of decomposition

could never hold my attention,

and I myself am an exceptionally

disinteresting affair. 

 

simply floating, waiting to end.