Z

Her putrid and black rotting flesh falls

Somewhat delicately from her tiny frame

A dark, tar like substance forms in glops

Along the visible crevices of her brain.

A greenish tinge brings out the yellow

Of where her missing eye used to be,

A brownish smelly liquid profusely runs

From a large gash in her knee.

Her fingernails are grimy and too long

And I’m pretty sure her foot is broken too

She is stumbling towards me, arms stretched out,

her teeth blackened while bleeding through.

Her hair is as dry as straw and bristles,

As a chilling wind passes between

Her bloody shirt is ripped and is

hanging from her shoulder at the seam.

I can see her chest as she approaches,

Scratched and sliced to shreds,

Her neck is disintegrated and disfigured,

Blotched with many shades of red.

As her rotting hand reaches for my body,

I see her wrists have been sliced to the vein,

A saddened story she cannot tell

But in her eyes I see the pain.

The tips of her fingers are close enough

That if I step forward I’m sure I’ll meet my end,

Her teeth are grinding together furiously now,

There’s nothing I can do to defend!

As I stumble and fall to the ground

I look up to the heavens and pray,

But I am in the apocalypse now

This whole poems a fucking cliché!