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Wither
February 17, 2012
Harsh rays of sunlight distort the thick slabs of asphalt,
Intrude upon every inch of her naked body
As she caters to the festering maggots
Tunneling through her brain.
Three days have gone by.
Her death pallor is gone,
Rigor mortem has set in
And nobody has come to claim her.
When people pass by
They step over her
But they never really see.
And as the years go by
She withers and turns to dust
And soon she is nothing more than
A stain on the sidewalk.
People pass by
And it’s business as usual
The world never knew she was gone.
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Favorite Quote:
“Sure, I can talk like you, but I choose not to, It's like an art, you know? Picasso had to prove to the world he could paint the right way, before he goes putting both eyes on the side of a face... See if you paint wrong because that's the best you can do, you just a chump. But you do it because you want to? Then you're an artist...You can take that to the grave and dig it up when you need it.” <br /> ― Neal Shusterman, Unwind