The clear washed out sky of April-
only an imitation of December.
I tell those of December,
only a putrefied thinker would oppose.
Be a root
or a fool.
The unfriendly finger will slowly run its coarse mark down through every inch of you.
Feel the wintry crystals pierce you,
for it’s April!

If the glowing rays of the sun were to be passionate enough it projected itself unto eyes; it was bound to be neglected by simply just. Admittedly far too easily outshined by the glistening of glass, yet be not comforted by the deprived. Allow deprivation to lead you to the nourishment.

Why do your cruel eyes only see the flowers in bloom? Take no notice of its deep veins just beneath the shade of its soft petals- thirsting for the spring rain. Milk its petals of their soft scent- take every last drop while it stands rooted in the deep soil. Nurture it only so its veins grow so deep into the bottomless soil it becomes too deep for any forceful pull to root out.

hear the pleading prayers as the hubris of the leaves and branches fade when their body dives into the soil. Let the leaves condemn your cruel ignorance.
For the least you can do is bleed; sap it within your ears and hear them speak

Refuse surrender to tender milk. So force me to torturously stare deep within your yearning eyes- betray me with saliva once mine as it aches for a lullaby, then beg me to drown you in lust and fill your dripping dew with a hollow bliss.

Unpeel the cloth that lye so softly on her skin,
peeling and stripping back her flesh as she conceals herself.
Watch her offer herself to the eyes that carved and stripped her,
then watch her plead to be draped in expectation.
You see; to be seen is to be undone.

oh to be the wept living eternally through the weeper.