counting the petals, ashen with decisive matches,
hope resides in the hearts of the deceased, within glass caskets,

the toiling deafens, torches blind,
layers of bliss, burning skin off bones,

the hierarchy descends to importance, there are no in-betweens,

the dreams you imagine, comprise of the makeup of clowns,
painting death threats over the walls of your prison,
this isn’t a nightmare, it’s what you refuse to accept,

take a knife to cut the wires that hold you up, with the rest of humanity,
and while you’re at it, decapitate yourself,
your head will look divine on the mantelpiece.