old photos in a tin box

Like a stack of old pictures
Yellowed by age
Smelly of decay
And sticky from the clamping together
I used to be a joy
I used to be relished
But now
Now I’m the worn out rug in the rain
I am a festered sore on a toe
Waiting to be cut off
Like the photos of the yester-years
I am just a memory in a tin box