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.