It oozes through the veins

Like moldy soft cheese

Coats the walls

In yellowish green

Putrid slime

You found hard to believe

Could have ever once

Been anything pure

Good.

It oozes through the arteries

Making it hard to move

From one place to another

Without feeling sick

In its wake.

It oozes out of pores

So small

You’d need

A microscope to see the

Holes.

The smell surrounds you.

Everyone can sense

Decay,

But too polite to say a word.

They watch you fade away

Slowly

With smiles and platitudes

It oozes.

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