Acrid Pungent and lingering deep within the nose... Clinging to the room and the threads of my clothes. Seeping from the body, hot sweat, and stale breath... Drifts the sour acrid scents behind every death. January 5, 2023 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Acrid, Death, Nursing, Patients, Poetry, Scents 6 Comments
AO Poetry 