I curse my body daily. Waking up with the sky, my tongue lashes red sunrises onto my thighs, my lungs vacuum a familiar poisonous plume. Oh! the relief of mortality! the sturdy promise of decay! An ancient blood pact with the moon turns me sour at her zenith, and I slink down in my weather-torn coffin smirking with anticipation. Crashing waves of maggots pour over and through me, shaving away this amorphous effigy to dust, debris. Released back to the soil, soaked in dew, reformed in clumps by absent-minded shoes, bled dry by stelliferous roots of sycamores - my body giving birth to life in ways I never could before, in ways only revealed to me by death the spurious specter becomes pure again.