Life remains stagnant.

Happiness has become expensive.
Counting pennies like a child.

I've been dreaming of dying,
Sometimes I feel like I'm already gone.

glistening,
the beetle gleams.

it looms over.
the shadow darkens,
closing in
and cracking down in a bursting chaos.

lifting up,
reveals a mosaic of remains.

death more beautiful after all.

The Sun beams down blessing the white curtains with a holy sort of light,
delicate undulant pristine waves of silk,
frame the green leaves that peek out,
gentle and humble,
yet
commanding the eye to gaze upon them,
aware of their beauty,
manage to give vanity allurement.

obscured by the leaves
hidden by the shade
lie there, rest.
you've done enough.