A sagging Gladius wallows inside me, limply,
It's rotting in its own wretched flaccidity,

I see others around me nurturing bounds of fruitful irises,
Some even mother sycamore, burgeoning with vigour, effortless as chaste kisses,

Tender fertilizer blots my chin in a bloodied marling,
I ingest the stolen soil, even when I feel the white sting of my innards' snarling,

So I'll inject myself with litres upon litres of putrid compost,
Only for my gladius to continuing shrivelling within my innermost,

It's stem-deep in nutrients, and is none the less decayed,
Atop the valley, even in the passing June, it stays, wilted withered and frayed,

Now, all I'm left with is the curdle of wetland moss festering in my blood,
Weighted with this fetidity, I let my gladius go, dead, in peace and clotted mud.

Disassociating in the ebony mirage,
I called your name, knee deep in that tender visage,

You didn't answer, so I sung to the fireflies at my windowsill,
I kept crooning, but I knew they never really cared for my fill,

Serenading until my throat was limp and hoarse,
I left it bruised indigo with mellifluous force,

By both the luminescent bugs and the Empyrean sky,
My ballad was left, bound and dry.

Baby's breath kisses the merlot tide of disease,
A brindled sea holds the white orchid of blanched dittany's.

Moonflowers scintillate with each cradle of dusk,
While Stars marl the sky, veiling over in cosmic musk.

During quietude, swans tread the ichor in a pearlesque flotilla,
The poison ripples beneath them as they thread between silk lilies and ivory scilla.

The gore strewn water continues to fester with pulsating, ripe, bile,
Despite all, the huddle of infancy will remain ever fertile.

Dripping with wild rafflesia, our home's halls reek,
As she walks, the stench interlaces with her, thick, fetid and bleak,

She reaches the dead-end, bringing the corpse lily to her lips,
I lurch an arm, but she's too far from my fingertips,

Now all I can do is watch as her teeth slowly, slowly, gnaw,
I'm there while her skin wrinkles like lapping sewage at shore,

Petals seep from her mouth in ****** clumps, gathering at the fold,
The dulcet caress of chewed flora blot her chin like gilded mould,

Her coughing tethers to the tantalizing ticks of the kitchen clock,
With no choice but to watch on, I stay until the final tock.

Oh, Moon vine,
Always sleeping where you bud.
I knew you couldn't wake,
Too lost in your fantasy's of pallid dittany's.

Do you wish to be stirred one day,
Or would you prefer to dream forever?
To chase the void in longing disparity,
To live in your own mind eternally?

When you wilt do you think, Moon vine,
You'll keep dreaming?

Canines in her mouth, Tongue licking,
Sobs in my throat, Subtle pricking,

Though she was distant, I wanted nothing more than to hold her close,
Carding through fur, I was trying, pleading for the inmost,

Wanting to make my touch a tender thing,
Longing for her to tether over anything

I trusted her yet she writhed in my cradle,
Thrashing at fingers, soft as sable

When she clawed at my shoulder, hitting the carpet with a hiss and a thud
She left me with only fragile cuts embraced by the sheen of supple blood.

Crocus will continue to wilt and Shrivel in the nursery,
Its too late for the primula, necrose to clockworks decay,
Ghost of baby's breath can you please tell me,
What happened to your infancy?