noble swan
An end is all a beginning needs.
Leaves falling, rotting, yellowing.
The autumn of your attraction, your life,
your willing death. The tree withers.
The apple of your eye, poisoned.
And your teeth, biting into the cyanide,
sweet lines of honey, lies,
running down your cracked lips.
You know the truth. You see through
the illusion of sweet, toxic glue.
You let go, let the reaper win.
It's only just, it's only right.
In this day and age, you can only bite.
You can only choke on each blackened smile.
You only live to enjoy the color.
You drain it, selfish, your greed,
your power, your gaping mouth,
devouring the dying.
Your blissful hands, fattening the young.
You kill to taste it on your tongue.
You surrender
for another to hear that same song.
Selfless? Prideful?
Proud of what you've done?
Who you've become?
Your death gives false life,
your grace, drunken and slumped.
All you've woven, beautifully crumpled.
You gave up the reigns,
now watch the decay, the worms
wriggling, writhing, necrosis spreading.
These blackened lines, pretty outsides,
quiet, elegant, smooth to the touch.
A grave, decorated by aesthetic husks.
Warm with undead love.
misty citrus
orchid lagoon