You’re an air of musk and liver halves ,
a stench of decompose,
mould stained etchings on epitaphs,
just thorns, with no rose.
Autumn crisp and winds snappy bite,
crows gawk and stare,
grass blades, stones and sunken sites,
they make you self aware.
Feet that echo from earth to ears,
I feel swollen with heat and regret,
flame of guilt and acid tears,
this grief just will not let.
Gnashed cheek sidewall,
chewed lip flesh sprawl,
bloodied nose freefall,
oh grief, I’m in your thrawl.