My aggregates unaligned, faulty, infirm,
Piercing pieces of my palms with pin.
From my gabled, bloody windows to
My cauliflowery ears and
Brussel sprouted nose,
Your light is upon me
Weak,
Drained,
No more Hydrogen,
All fruit, all sweet,
Yet bitter all the same.
Slowly rot, shall we?
How long?
Millions for you, decades for me;
This waltz.
In a blink of your eye,
I am not,
That is, if ever I was.
Who are you to laugh?
Heat, hot, hallucinating
Mirages of relief in you
But there is only
Ruin, Gravity, Tearing.
Parchment skin and dried vapors
Are my only weapons now.
I did not ask to be born.
I did not ask to die.
But I’m unborn and undying.
Illusions seared into me.
Into dust,
Into gas and dirt
Into stuff
We both go.
Nothing, in the end
Just as in the beginning.
Amen.
Intensely gross. I hope you don’t take that as an insult. It’s just the whole time, as you’re describing rotting and so forth, I’m imagining a dead dwarf that’s blue in the face from suffocation perhaps all mushed together in a peach casserole. And…I’m grossed out. Haha. Great imagery though!
Actually, a blue dwarf is a star. That said, there are a couple of Smurfs that I wouldn’t mind dispatching.
OH THANK GOD.
…remind me not to eat any of your pies regardless…I’m a little suspicious now…haha
That was beautiful.
… thank you. You’re beautiful, too.
Thank you gonz