Rot

There’s a bit of rot been clinging to my soul

And I should really take up that rag and wipe it clean

I should surely start now before the stain sets in

(I’m not sure anymore if living’s the price or the goal)

I should really take up that rag and scrub it good

I should start right now before the pain sets in

(I’m not sure anymore what to try or how to begin)

Decay is as much a part of me as blood

I should do it right now before it starts to grow

(I’m not sure anymore who to trust and what to believe)

Decay is as much a part of me as grief

And a mildewed spirit is the only thing I know

I’m not sure anymore if living’s the price or the goal

Decay is as much a part of me as fear

But I’ve a mildewed spirit and a rag to wipe it clear.

And I’m here. That’s something. Alive, if not quite whole.