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
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