Untitled

I feel rotten.

Like an apathetic potato.

Shriveled up,

Shrinking.

 

I’m a vegetable.

A dried up, wrinkling vegetable.

Putrid,

And molding.

 

Ready to be tossed out

There’s surely no use for me

Expired,

And fading.

 

The maggots will consume me eventually,

Anyway.

Faded,

Gone.