Let's see how long the clock will tick,
Minutes winding into hours
Before the muffled sound is consumed by the flies
They crawl on dead skin, sampling it
Tasting the despair that sweated through the skin
Stinking like the rotting body
They crawl, a shuffling buzz
Whirling mindlessly through the stifling, summer air
In this room, the heat has been left on
A widow shut but broken lets in the bugs
They find this body on the bed
Blood splattered across the cloth
Draws them with its scent
It is dark, completely dried
The eyes of the corpse are blank and staring
On one, a fly lands, and lays her eggs.
 
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