I am rotting from the inside out
yet every day I wake up feeling blessed.
blessed for having been born and having survived this long.
blessed by the omnipresent fragrance of death.
beckoning its call. sounding it's whistle.
it's in the light. the shadows. the cricks in my bone.
the taste of this cigarette.
this half drunken bottle of wine.
these crumbs of bread.
and like me the wine rots.
waiting to be enjoyed.
waiting to serve a purpose.
to have meaning.
to drift along with the sea.
