There is nothing
In the whole wide world
That will seemingly soothe
This festering wound.
It is filled with maggots
The very sight of them
Repulsive, disgusting.
This festering wound.
It oozes,
As if it’ll never stop,
Until life,
Frustrated from holding on
Against its will,
Gives up its hold
On the embattled shell
That holds it all –
The sunken eyes,
The festering wound,
And the ragged breath –
That fragile thread,
That would rather snap,
Than carry on,
The ebb and flow,
Of a life on the go.

Image Credit: Photo by Lalesh Aldarwish on StockSnap