the ribbon tied. the seal pressed, neat. and the astute.
hello, stranger. an eroding corpse among a bed of buds  
coroner's eyes over you. it was due. sour.
worms gather. flies flood in like a plague and the
consequential axe wound cements its innards as the
roots of the trees pull you six feet under.
degrading still. the aftermath and the smell of it.
rot and decay. i extend my hand, reaching out for rose and silk
to pass the time but as i tamper with the flourishing buds
the uneven petals wither collapsing into themselves
and as my feet are greeted by the familiar roots
i too follow.

Far-seeing the apple of your eye
Reaching for
The globe, glorious and tender in your sphirex hands,
Newly crafted, formed. Painted by the millimeter from
the pacific to the Indian.
North to south-- then the equator
Smack bang,
In the middle.
You'd shoulder the weight of the sphere
and you'd smoldered the downfall of the creation
As the maple combusted and we took a bite:
Sweet, deep crimson.
Scorned yet dazed; a lamb ready for the slaughter
Our sympathies could only reach an external level
As our animalistic inner, drove us to all fours
And the taste of sin, bittersweet.
And then the caw of the crow,
And the growl of the beast
Echoing across the mountains,
Valleys,
The curves deep,
The aperture wide spread as
The sun set behind our crystal eyes
Unveiling the sublime.
(For a moment)
Then,
Darkness.

Turning in,
I fight to fall and stand upon the ethereal
where wise men die and bad credence comes to those who wait
for natural paths and ventured losses, nothing gained.

How many routes we could of chosen,
yet here we are with greedy hands and ****** noses
Fighting for it, living for it
The note apparent,
our bodies vessels with no inhabitants.

We could have been the routes that flourished
trees and growth and youth in hand with knowledge
instead we look at our foundations
a ***** root,
a spoiled promise.

every curve, jilt raw and open
empty like my rotted insides, soaked like ****** eyes
and the smell of the charnel house, my company
i have locked myself here like the bone i am though
the frames untouched, the flames brush
painted I before I knew me
the monotonous, the nonsense
and this one end wonder makes me wonder
why not jump

in, onto dream ward bound the spiraled
runway plastered with the dancers feet
and me, somewhere

in the crowd.

Wouldn't it be cold if my skin turned in on itself and the roots of the soil, apparent
Delved and flourished inwards till un-viewable buds.
The stupidity of them to think their was charm in secrecy
Or that with the lights out they were beating intently yet unseen.
Foolishly hidden, wrapped like new-born.
Small.
But when they fall the world takes part
Neanderthals
Reverting and Imploding,
Escaping. Exploding.
With thorns we never stood a chance.