What Am I

What am I but rotting flesh worshipping the dead
With a noose around my neck hung up on things you said
Tireless were my efforts turning obsession into bread
Knowing every hour there was darkness up ahead

What am I but skeletons for your throne
A path to a garden where nothings ever grown
A stage for your eyes where all my soul is shown
Humiliation for despair now breeding in my bone

© Delia Ross. 2020

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