Prequel to my demise.

Rotting flash, that putrid stink. Pump me with chemicals Procrastinate decay.

I am temporary and that too will change. Return to atoms, more durable things.

My chipper smile hasn’t faded But it’s as forced as my skin care routine.

Disorganized, disheveled, detestable, disgust. To suggest you see that part implies it’s the whole thing.

We allow death to taint what joy we have. It spreads like a disease breaking collective disassociation.

I’ll always be the happy and fun one, They can never know how comfortable I am with death.