The whites of my flesh

Are yellowed and crumbling,

Aged pictures fresh,

Reflected in the pits of my

Irises.

The oceans of blue,

Gold flicked and brown,

Are speckled with dew.

Silver tears fall, freezing on

Gray grass.

The living corpses, skeletons

Dance behind

My eyelids; children with guns

Held to their quaking

Temples.

Death has entered through

My aching pores, spilling

Through my veins to sew

Itself onto

My heart.