Envy only the trophies
The world has sputtered forth,
Bleeding majestic status
For your feet to walk.
Bares a pair of shimmering shoulders,
Wanting with your fingers pressed
To the bone of your vacant image.
To the discovered fossil,
Of porcelain against your array
Of fog upon this doomsday,
The painting has become the decay.
With a lucid smile,
Warped by the petals allowed to fall.
A hand held against your mouth,
A divided heart, shattered
To slice your wind-torn palms,
As force drenches you.