In the dead forests where dreams have taste and silence, the rain falls happily against the warm and wondrous bark at night. And nobody is there to see it, only imagination.
The elation in death of a seemless wading into deeper waters, memories become compact, elusive and mesmerising, enthralling and relentless, overpowering the blind lens of a catalyst examined before our eyes through thoughtless entertainment.
The floods of sweeping sorrow are reminders to a crown of creatures built, evaporate and eviscerate the raptures in departure, human remains burned for the waking, laying in mud like strangers crept up on their inner selves in shadows. And before forgiveness comes.
A nation wilting, torn wood awoken, then destroyed. Bridges are collapsing, roads running home to you, insects laughing at comedy i barely understand, humanity sad as skeptics, clear eyes drilled with tears of skeletons entrapped in soul crushing insanity. Teardrops waving at mugshots, forests of heaven, together under one horizon. And dead forever.