Rotting

In the dim-lit room where shadows creep, A girl lies still, in endless sleep. Each dawn's light brings naught but dread, For she wakes to find herself more dead.

Her once agile limbs, now brittle and frail, As time's cruel touch leaves its haunting trail. Hollow bones, like branches bare, No longer hers, but a weight to bear.

Her skin, a canvas of decay, Each passing day, it fades away. Flesh turns to dust, beneath her touch, As life slips through her fingers, clutch.

Her mouth, a graveyard of teeth and gum, Where whispers of pain and sorrow hum. Each breath she takes, a rasping sigh, As she watches pieces of herself die.

In the silence of her tomb-like room, She feels the weight of impending doom. Yet still, she clings to a flicker of hope, A fragile thread on which to cope.

But as the days go by, she knows, That soon she'll succumb to life's cruel blows. For in this darkness, she's slowly consumed, A girl once vibrant, now entombed.