It’s been raining now for weeks. I feel the dampness when I breathe. My clothes go mouldy on their racks. The house foundations shift and crack. Help me scrub this mould away – I don’t want to face decay, or biodegrade. I’m only meat and I know now: from here the only way is down, down! The overgrowth obscures the walls; so soon we won’t be here at all – skin turned to paper, bones to dust, brain to grey and darkened mush. Help me scrub away this mould. We’re never ready to grow old, oh no – for rot and rust and fallen leaves; for death, decay and entropy… for when we’ll no longer be.