You were always rotting I never noticed They remind me of you Skin wrapped around ankle bones Wearing through their soles Itβs different here Guess some just rot faster I peeled back the covers and found only the lacuna The blue orange fuzz Delineating the shadow from the concrete You grew apart and dissipated Smoke settling into cloth The back of my sleeve How come? How come? Everyone is always leaving Warping through their bodies Did you ever finish your story? Soft knuckles rapping on your door Knobbly knees I know itβs selfish Perpetuating the fabric of your existence Like a categorical imperative A crumpled head filled with spirits Is carried to the tip It happens every Monday morning Hollow men run the streets But they leave the rot They always leave the rot