Bereft Senses

A poem about bereft senses.

I look in the mirror, death looks back

I hum a song, wails reverberate

I stop to smell a flower, decay and rot fill my nose

I brush a hand down your cheek, cold needles pierce my flesh

I kiss your fingers, vomit fill my throat

What dark sorcery is this that deprives me of my senses,

    of all that is lovely and good?