Terminal Bloom

The year has come full circle and now we’re standing here again
Your existence makes me pick at my skin
My existence makes you want more
And more
You are rotting, but it’s feeding the spores
I am retching
But it’s feeding the spores

Tomorrow is a new day with new light and new life, but right now we’re in the blackest depths of night; winter bones emerging from a history of gore
You’re still rotting, but it’s feeding the spores
I am retching, but it’s feeding the spores
A touch can contaminate enough to grow a killer
A bloom in its freshest peak won’t take long to wither
An inviting scent can trigger a grotesque memory, but from the rot, new life
From the spores, we rise