Poetry

Putrefaction

As my body lay lifeless on the ground,
muscles frozen, veins filled with crimson ice,
and skin covered with frost and snow,
my thoughts lingered,
whispering into nothingness, with no one
there to listen. This putrefaction
in the middle of a brittle winter
became my curse.

© Sarah Doughty

For the #MayBookPrompts – The Winter Of Our Discontent

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16 thoughts on “Putrefaction”

      1. You’re most welcome. Having read your “About” page, I’m compelled to remark that so often those of us with deep pain (physical or mental/emotional) seem to write with exceptional strength and power. The silver lining within infirmity, I suppose. God bless you as you forbear.

        Liked by 1 person

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