Hidden Decay

I open the fridge—the sour wave

hits hard before the light can save.

A jar, cracked glass and blackened lid,

mushy death trapped inside, undid.

Reaching past forgotten meals,

the stench curls, the stomach reels.

Rot unseen, but growing fast,

leftovers turned to shadows cast.

Hidden decay waits in the chill,

a slow surrender, scentless still.