body paint

Becoming The Bones


Smelling like death in here

Something putrid in the air

She gagged but no upchuck

Flies buzzing around

In a deafening sound

As the stench rises higher

She was loosing her grip

Not wanting to slip

Into an unconscious state

What in all flaming hell

Was that awful smell

Filling every inch of this space

The darkness in the corners

Makes it hard to figure

What the devil is so foul

No light from the ceiling

Or a window for releasing

Whatever had rotted openly

Sure she was seeing

A cloud of moss green

As far as her eyes would allow

Feeling along the walls

For exit door handle bars

She finds it with a rush of relief

Pushing against the door

Then pushing once more

Then again and again and again

Then accepted it was locked

And she’d have been shocked

But felt it would happen eventually

And there was no running

From the beginning of becoming

The bones in someone’s closet


Ria 2016