It's only now that I notice
how long and filthy his fingernails are
His brown skin is unusually gray
with sores covering past sores
The weight that once supported a handsome frame
is now rapidly deteriorating
He's losing his hair in the most gruesome fashion
and his face has been taken hostage by lizard wrinkles
The bottom of his T-shirt
full of dried-up food, blood and mucous stains
His eyes, dead and glassy
the feel of his hand, clammy
If not for his grubby tube socks,
they'd be fins for feet
Like a fading spirit,
remmebering nothing but a vacuum,
His mouth is a tunnel for spite
and vomit.
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