I am made of decay

Rotting teeth fall like autumn leaves out my decaying mouth

god(,) let me rot

Do not fear the onslaught of flesh decomposing off bone,

slipping like a fawn on winter ice.

Like an overgrown wood I am made of mossy hilled hips and dead oak branches for arms,

left to rot rot rot

I fear not, for the joints and the arteries and the veins are full of corrosion, rust; soon shall I perish to become but one of the wildflowers spotting the forest floor, feeding the stardust, digesting me slow.