Slipping Away

Slipping away. Under the rotting vegetation. Wet. Not from rain though. And one has to wonder if this was just a ploy to get away...but you can't be found if you disappear and a day can turn into a year. And then all you are is a memory. And a piece of my heart. Part of my blood. Part of my air. But then who am I to think I'm deserving of even a small piece of heaven or happiness or even a smidgen of light from the darkest night? I don't really want to go on. I'll stay here ...under the dead leaves getting wetter until I turn into a mold or mildew and creep across the black forest. But remember me, because I'll be under every step you take.