Carrion

Death becomes me
Like a mask
On a shelf
In a store
The day before Halloween
And circling vultures
Eye my construction
The fading paint
Androgynous character
Frayed string
And trashed visage
These signs of weakness
Symbolize my demise
Nearly as much as the ones
Who wait for the end
Who pick at my limbs
Hoping that they fall off
Sniffing the air
For the scent of decay
That has become me
As I wait for you
While I hang on
Fingertip grip
Holding to a promise
That will never be fulfilled
Like a beautiful prism
Buried under shadow
Fighting for relevance
In a world full of scavengers
Hovering near
To pick apart the weak
These carrion beasts
Still waiting for me.

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