So I wrote this poem about five years ago. For some reason I was imagining fruit rotting on the vine or ground. That sense of decay over time. Falling apart, rodding, and eventually dying. I know, happy thoughts. But that was kind of the inspiration behind this poem. Rotting, infested, and things dying. With those thoughts in mind I sat and wrote this poem.
I hope you like this one, thank you so much for reading, and enjoy.
My Rotting Heart
By Matthew R. Taylor
My heart is like dead fruit. It rots as it hangs inside my chest. Blackened as it shrivels. Decays on the vines of my insides. It droops down. No longer able to be supported. Its dead weight is too much. What was once full and luscious, is now empty and rotting. Hollowed out and swarmed by bugs. Eaten and devoured slowly, bit by bit. The rot festers, spreads. Other parts of me become infected. I feel it deep inside. Feel it start to kill and take over. More of me starts to decay. Starts to rot. I wither inside. Shrivel up and crack. I feel myself begin to die. Like fruit that has fallen on the ground. Left and forgotten. An empty husk. No more.