the stars twinkling in the midnight sky,
the soft breeze of the wind,
carries the smell after the rain,
the gentle lull of the world on it's course,
the headache gets worse,
laying in the grass,
blacked out and fell on the ground,
as everything begins to spin,
and the smell grows worse,
the putrid rotting of the flesh on your face,
you open your motuh to scream,
but worms crawl out,
you try to breathe but you find you can't,
you touch your chest,
knowing the aweful truth,
your rotten soul,
has eaten your skin,
your organs,
you've decayed from your evil decadence,
you wake up in the grass,
watching the clouds drift softly,
across the morning sky.
DeathLies Community Member 
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