Rot. I would like to rest Beneath the forest sun. I would like to rot In a casket of flowers and mud. Squirming beetles and writhing maggots Within a corpse of brittle skin. I want to be the flesh maggots adore, The fat that feeds the woods. I want to be the rotted apple core, From the apple that fell too far from the tree. And in the forest, I will never be lonely. I want to be the bones holding nests and burrows, I want to be the blood that feeds vile butterflies So they don’t have to cannibalize their kin. I want to be the shield that hides a fawn From the world, full of rotten sin. I want to rot in a peaceful place, Where I can lose skin but stay whole. I want to rot in the deep woods, And not beneath the man-made knoll Of a freshly-dug grave.
