Look far into the distance
What do you see?
There's a semblance of something
Tragic.
Green blurs to yellow and orange and red
Falling upon the Earth's bountiful head.

She combs through her hairs until they're prepped for her shower.
She awaits the shampoo to arrive.
And what do we do?
We stamp out the paths we need
For our little maggot selves to pass through.

It's time we stop carving out cavities
Into the head of the place we call home.
She feeds us
And clothes us
And lulls us to sleep
Remaining selfless despite arrhythmia's creep.