earth tone embrace,
gently going down...
simple pleasures of twisted senses,
an equivocation of use,
i know not what, but
if death is the famished dog
then surely we are the fluffy white
rabbits on sticks,
until it is humorous to turn off,
and vise-grip jaws rip, tear and devour;
an **** of natural selection,
meant as god's jest
that breathing is quick,
mainly because we have to
scurry so quick.