Summer Of Rotting Flesh

Author: Rot girl

The sun isn’t just hot—it’s a sentient beast, gnawing through my skin like a rabid raccoon with a taste for human flesh. It drips its molten bile onto my back, seeping into the cracks of my soul, turning every breath into a suffocating sigh of burnt plastic and despair. My body feels like a landfill, packed tight with the stench of old sweat, rotting skin, and the metallic tang of self-loathing. Each morning, I wake to the symphony of my own decay: the wet, squelching sound of my intestines gurgling like a broken drainpipe, the sour tang of bile clinging to my tongue like a lover’s regret. A lover I’ll never touch with my crooked fingers.

My stomach a warzone. It’s not just shitting water—it’s vomiting the very essence of stagnation, a viscous, gray sludge that coats my ribs and leaves them screaming. I’ve become a vessel for the earth’s own filth, my bowels a river of lukewarm sewage, flowing unchecked into the void. The air tastes like mold and desperation, and every step I take is a stumble through a swamp of half-digested hope, where the mud clings to my soles like a second skin.

Let this end. Bring the four horseman of the apocalypse to my feet.