Great Poetry

[Mr.Obvious]

Mold
Have you ever had corruption mocking you?
There’s a patch of it growing inside my bath,
cloaked as midnight begat from tainted tissue
infecting and growing with cancerous wrath.

Others dare declare they cannot see it.
Which above all else is most unfair.
For no matter how much washing I did
I still feel it spreading everywhere.

I scrub and scrub and scrub hours on end
and use my tears to dilute the soap.
I plunge open wounds into lemon scent
and use the pain to help me cope.

It still infests my marmer, consuming all.
The cleaning product bites into my skin
There’s red smeared across the wall.
And without flesh; fingers seem so thin.

The spores now root deep in my blood.
With closed eyes they can’t be unseen.
Underneath my skin I can feel them bud
making me tear muscles to keep clean.

And if it weren’t for my frustration,
I doubt I could still call myself sane.
Only rage withstood the assimilation
ever pumping through every vein.