Death seems only temporary in as vague an understanding of conception I have.

But looking around above me I come to notice the bloom of life that replaces almost unnoticed, definitely unannounced, the sparse decay gazed upon with misery when trying to decode the world.

I watched her wounds bound ceaselessly uncaring across the humble unconfident scream of my apparent struggle and pondered, in silent airways, a way of dissecting the eye of a soul to read its ugliness but no, it never came to cross the road of thorns.

So it lay next to me, out of the covers- exposed- pretending not to notice when all of the eyes of the world peeled back to stare.

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