Built on an Abandoned Greenhouse

I’m naked,

   And poisoned;

My skin is grey,

  With pulsating blue veins,

Bursting black blood clots,

  Across the asylum white walls.

I’m naked,

  And crumbling;

My skin is stone,

  With widening concrete cracks,

Spraying powdered ash dust,

  Across the fire flame walls.

I’m naked,

  And shedding;

My skin is peeling,

  Revealing growing green weeds,

Spreading deadened leaves,

  Across the drowning blue walls.

I’m naked,

  And disappearing;

   My skin is evaporating,

    Seeping through the wooden slats,

     Eroding the foundations,

      Melting the very walls.

I was the embodiment,

Of an abandoned greenhouse,

With strangling ivy and infertile soil.

I was the embodiment,

Of an abandoned greenhouse,

With broken glass and dried grass,

Struck with a match.

My already weak foundations,

Lost any solidity,

And became nothing but smoke;

                                                                               Floating nothingness.

                                  I’m naked,

And empty.

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