deepundergroundpoetry.com
Rusting
I’m much smaller than I used to be,
The moisture in my skin slowly evaporated into the air.
I’ve become shriveled and thin.
Stretched to the limit,
You can see the spaces between the stitches.
I miss being whole,
Feeling solid and thick.
I am splitting edges,
Dry leaves and sticks.
Weaker,
Brittle like a rotting tree.
I hold these stones in my palms,
And wait for them to fall through.
Guiltily letting the wind take me,
My veins come unthreaded.
I miss where I used to be,
What I used to be.
I’ve eroded,
Slowly becoming dust.
The moisture in my skin slowly evaporated into the air.
I’ve become shriveled and thin.
Stretched to the limit,
You can see the spaces between the stitches.
I miss being whole,
Feeling solid and thick.
I am splitting edges,
Dry leaves and sticks.
Weaker,
Brittle like a rotting tree.
I hold these stones in my palms,
And wait for them to fall through.
Guiltily letting the wind take me,
My veins come unthreaded.
I miss where I used to be,
What I used to be.
I’ve eroded,
Slowly becoming dust.
Published 4th Jul 2024
Author's Note
I wear my struggles on my rusted forearms.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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