Beneath The Sorrel

•Written on December 4th, 2022.•

There is green in my eyes and I cannot say

Is it the trees above of the moss

Finally spreading

Over my face

The softness of the rain giving way to damp carpet

Beneath the sorrel

Bones grey and sagging in the brush

Mycelium sprouting

Amber caps in my ribcage

In my waking hours I can feel them growing

Each rasping breath disturbing spores

Slowly feeding

Collapsing into soil

There will come a day when I stop fighting

And then

I will be consumed