Sickly Fantasies Poem by Dakota Ellerton

I could lay here,
all day if I must.
Dream of something so real,
as the blood trickles down my leg,
pooling around me.
The air is thick with the scent of impurity.
Prints of my fingertips are smeared on the wall,
I haven't the strength to stand.
If someone so horrible deserved a more fitting fate,
it'd be me.
I claw at my back,
splitting my rotten flesh.
I'm falling apart at the seam.
My organs are decaying,
while heart still beats,
I wasn't hardly alive to begin with.
Born with a defect,
born with death entwined into my mind.
I've mutated to the circumstances.
If I spend life, thinking of death,
in death will I think of life?
I could lay here all day,
and fantasize such a thing.