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Myopic - Remembrance
08:57
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I saw the greened moon fall, and her light and its flowers distorting her visage. My memoryβs lost in the waves, but I see the beauty in her violence and taste artifacts of her breath. Entrenched in the things that made me long to breathe clean, and smother every flame that I nursed. That feral star bared its cracked fangs and pounced into the sea, like itβs done a thousand times before. Diluting all salvation, her brain is a sopping wet annihilative aid. Begging to feel again. We were whispering about life and gods of skin; tithing for an anonymous death. Let me feel again. It obfuscates me to gaze upon your pocked, marred form, with lionβs eyes.
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Bled into the swollen night. An exit wound nova against the black nest, composed of writhing limbs. An ethereal crop of sores in fields of crawling skin. Picked clean only to be reborn. There, leeched of my pride, I could have nourished the earth. Rooting deep within the ash. Planting seeds. Everything was as it was supposed to be. Blooming with slurry and bruised purity. Like an old stone weathering dull. Those scraping fangs wore shallow, tilling furrows in my skull. Those gnashing gears spat satellites of choking mold and took my breath. But I remember a time. I could lose myself in the contours of the wreckage. When I smelled the flowers, the stench drowned my soul. My tongue traced the wind, which dried it up, speaking dust. I drank the water and purged naught but bile. When I shed my skin, there was nothing left.
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