This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Wells chapter.
The room reeks of sickness,
Her rotting flesh sours the beige curtain,
The star-spangled blanket worn and ripped
Sitting on her feet that does nothing to keep her warm
Now unsettled with her decaying state.
Her lips are bruised and chapped,
And with each word that comes out
A raspy wheeze starts from the tips of
Her tongue spreads out to her teeth.
What happened to her loud voice?
Her face has sunken in,
Her eyes, ones of which
Carried a flame which once
Could burn many civilizations
Now a lukewarm coal.
She was sick from the beginning,
Her frail body hidden beneath
An illusion simply fixed together
With cheap super glue and duct tape,
Covered with a tattered blanket.