Suddenly it's pitching deep down
Burying beneath the callous hide
Like a virus of needles, feeble yet fast
Crawling in and out the blank eyes
Contagious, spreading and tearing
The skin that withers, bones that rust
And out dawns a disease
A lone, blooming flower amidst
Mountainous piles of rotting carnage
With it rises the grieving crimson sun
Petals and leaves in a sea of cadavers
So it grows, and roots try to reach
The far edges of the horizon

From a frivolous seedling of sickness
Now scintillates the devoid plain
It starts drawing euphoric breaths
Out of the breeze of reeking pain
The sky pulls from it a tall willow like
Standing spirited in all the awe
But it's blindness, and its blindness
Brought it ingrained to feigned soil
Bearing fruits of sordid star clusters
Bound digging for a purposeless toil
As it tries to grasp firm the fleshy dirt
It's as if a swift accretion of dust
Blown away by a quiescent zephyr

Now it see its own doubtful existence
The stench is repulsing from within
Fake are its scions of luminescence
For not the carcasses are that fester
But its own visage where putrid blood
Flows and that waters the posy earth
So it asks and draws its own surmise
From buzzing hordes of flies infesting
The dying land like butterflies
Is it healing that it truly brings
As answers wreak from the blithe lies
Maggots surge from wilted blossoms
It knows, it’s healing that it brings