the spirits, craving and lusting, haunt the graves and the gardens of those who have died longing. longing for food, longing for gold and diamonds, longing for warmth, and perhaps, longing for love.
no flowers for the greedy, they also say.
selfish fools who yearned for gold, affection, the tingle in one's chest. selfish fools who yearned and never got. selfish fools are the ones that did. selfish fools to the ones who had their happy ending with gusts of flower petals (i hope they burn your skin when they grace you, i hope your castle gets set aflame).
no flowers for the reckless, they once said.
for those that flew too close for the sake of the glow, for those that drank to fall under, for those that bruised and bled, you deserve gardens. gardens with the repertoires of honeycomb dreams and lush flowers. you deserve the garden.
behold, these horrors that face me. behold, the graves of which those who longed (i'm sorry you didn't get what you want). behold, our morbid lies and truths. behold, the malice of life and death. behold, the building, the town, the morgue of your home.
and glory, to the destruction of skin and bone.
written by the silver-toothed lusus naturae.
NOTESim straight up NOT hving a good time
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