They walk past,
day in and day out.

They see through,
out of sight out of mind.

Can't they feel the cold,
and smell the mold?

There, where I lie.
Suspended in time.

Rotting through tiles.
Nurturing flies.

Outside, the world keeps spinning,
the ebb and flow go on,

I can still hear them laughing,
just beyond that threshold.

Not much left of me,
that fixture by the wall,

Locked within that room,
past the door no one goes through.

Death rattled mind,
synapses primed,

Firing like a shooting squad,
To the sound of chuckles from afar.

They won't mourn me,
nor the likeness we shared,

There needn’t be tears,
from those that've been spared.