Chapter Text
Martha my love
Your cracks seep with fungus
And your lungs fill with dirt,
Moss coats your ever brown throat,
And you scream,
Into the warm autumn air,
And under the infectious groves,
And you cry,
Your pleas ferment the pungent grass,
And your evermore rage,
Tears apart your hollow grounds.
You stick thistles between your teeth,
And absorb your weeping end,
You mimic the swallows,
And carbonate your sorrows.
For you know not but hurt,
Not but loneliness,
But the residue of that which you do not follow.
And yet you fester,
You gape and you break,
And you dig harder into the blistering gout,
And you rip new holes to join the ones you have missed out,
And you lay down on your flower bed,
Brown throat covered in moss,
lungs that heave with an organic paste,
And your cracks bloom through the mold,
And you shine,
You burn, and burn like a star that spiralled into a meteor,
Your tears soak the soil,
And your trees humble your plight,
They whisper, whisper a word,
Whisper a phrase,
And whisper a sentence that you ingrave,
Ingrave on your floral tomb,
You pull your heart tight,
They ask your questions,
Lovely and light,
They shout louder for your broken ears,
But you closed them up so long ago,
So you blink back your eyelids,
And this time it's you who asks the question.
Shall we meet again next summer mourn?