"Rot"
- Francois Woody
- Aug 27, 2015
- 1 min read
Sitting here, rotting, wasting through the day.
Some things never seem to change, no matter what you happen to say. Dishes, garbage, laundry too. Cats through the window, coming 2 by 2. Scrape myself off the couch, fix myself something to eat. I might be down, but I won't be beat. I'm as tough as nails, as tough as can be. I guarantee you haven't seen the last of me. What is arises from what was not. I'm not done, not by a long shot. Give me what you've got.





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