that fish smell of filth unwashed overripe body seasoned with pore salt
Me and the Scone – A Tawddgyrch Cadwynog
just me, myself and i alone, nose to the stone til nothing’s left. i have my health, this orange cream scone, these aging bones, yet still bereft.
Image of Fear
brittle bone rattles baring jagged edges jutting rudely beneath ill fitting flesh and pudding paunch – obscene and unseemly unsettling reflection pallid in a stained mirror – so familiar yet foreign gazing through sullen eyes – chalky complexion chill ‘neath warm skin – it scares me truly it does – creeps on nagging