taken as a metaphor.
'oh how long could i stand this cold forest decay? i'm sure i don't know. beneath broken limbs and tumbled roots. her hair spread among the black leaves below the maple. feed her your white rot off the tip of a poor clay tongue. unformed distorted image of what you claim to love. she used to be beautiful but it's hard to keep a pretty face when you're starving. pale cheekbones like the splinters of an ash tree. she hungers for something more then what she can find in your shallow waters. you raven weapon. you're killing what you claim to love. your touch to creep a silent death over the flesh that trusted in you for art. the knife cradled now lies in arms reach. is it in my charge to be your ruin. to kill what i love and your sick perversion. she lies at the foot of the maple. begging for a rest to tear out her melody. my eyes just can't see her like this. i must pluck this flower from the rot. only to clutch it tight to my chest and watch these petals pass to graves. God rest.' -m . the hangman sleeping
God allow me to see beauty everywhere as your eyes do. good day today. ignore the above. it may be cold too. but it is still a good day.
'so strang i remember you in protest of a prayer. and falling back from seas we fear to sail. i swear i saw the shooter. gold teeth and a double dare. postmodern warnings seem inclined to fail. feigning an apology. those words they never left your lips. those five years in bermuda slide by like the lights of passing ships. so strange that i remember you. kneeling deep in Nietzsche's lies. my throat was an open grave. i drank your stained glass eyes.' -thrice . so strange i remember you