The Stench

Death approaches on self-pity
It has a stench, like that of rat-infested longkangs
Strong, silent, of rotten eggs and cow-dung
Filling up the nostrils 'til they fume out

You can smell it, silence puncturing the air,
So you watch how, how it punctures it black
You are terrified it will suck you in
Your eyes limp, faces spent, muscles slack

Why are you afraid?
Life still echoes down your spine
Your brash youth has yet to recede
Why are we afraid?

Perhaps it could be contagious
Perhaps we too could start crying for ourselves

- Shu -