Soul Rot
by Michael Doyle

When your bad is so good
That it's become understood
As being what you're best at,
It may be best to remember that.

It's not exactly forgot.
You're suffering from soul rot.
Staring death in the face,
And keeping it in its place.

You keep on constantly bleeding,
Not knowing what you're needing.
And the doctors really can't help you now
As you keep muddling through somehow.

Proud that you've kept on your feet
In the face of yet another bloody defeat.
You'll fight on to the bitter end
Even as the Reaper becomes your only friend.

It's a burning sort of feeling,
A fire that keeps your head reeling.
Screaming to yourself as you piss blood,
You pull yourself through crawling the mud.

Given the soul-searching choice,
You look hard to find your truest voice.
I'd rather be a heart than a brain,
But wouldn't that just be in vain?

Because, you see I simply forgot
That I have a chronic case of soul rot.
Does it come across as shaded,
If my interest in life has faded?

(c) June 4, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved