i crave to make something wildly beautiful

skull encrusted with the divine

mended hearts tapered to withered frame

the tusks of death stop for never/

they maim

in an embrace feigning comfort/

locked within shackles of fern and fate

losing physical bodies to time

mending soul to stone/

there are no jaws of the reaper to mourn

only the still absence of pain

i rest atop the flower bed still as sun

blemishes of pebble and moss envelop me/

i am no longer envious of the forest

as my lungs pool and thrive housing

families of centipedes/

worms gorge themselves in the back of my throat

hollow sockets infinitely gazing at crowded sky

empty and void save for acceptance