Unseen Growth

Behind the fridge door —

a jar forgotten,

cracked glass blooming green,

a slow, relentless taking over.

The sour scent rises,

fingers of mold spreading

like a secret no one wanted,

a quiet invasion beneath the lid.

It bubbles, unseen,

a living weight,

pressing against glass,

waiting for the air to crack.

This is the smell of things left alone,

a soft accusation

that creeps in,

fermenting beneath the cold light.