Rotted flesh
animated by a stubborn hunger.
Stumbling forward
with the rest of the pack,
it looks down
At torn clothing,
feeling a dull ache at the back of its skull.
A muted recollection
from before the decay,
cut short
by the stink of the living.
The hunger becomes a fever
Until there's nothing
but the craving
for meat between mottled teeth.


© Diane Lawlor