Princess
Skin as cold and slimy as a fish,
the seas of the beachside rapidly retreat,
becoming sticky and rancid like mucus.
They float to the surface,
the fish,
from skinny sardines to gaping mackerel.
Her wide graying eyes,
still and cloudy as the overcast sky,
stare up.
As the light in them leave,
the earthy winds go still.
Her once flushed rosy lips,
now blue,
are parted mid-scream.
In the distance,
once flourishing flowers on the green mountainside,
wilt.
Turning silver and drooping sadly,
just like the dead rose in my hand.
Her fingertips, all but one,
are a deep black,
sunlight that once shined through clouds,
dims and darkens to a similar shade.
Her stomach is swollen,
the yellowing skin of her torso pulled taunt,
till transparent.
The ground underneath me shutters,
earth swelling like her abdomen,
until it cracks apart.
The Earth is perishing,
like the heiress of Mother Nature,
because the Princess is dead.
Or is she?
I see her toes wiggle.
Commenti