Xanadu
 

The blood has stopped dripping, muscles have begun to contract involuntarily. The mind and soul have left this plane — only body remains on the Earth. Still, the flesh and bones sing, their songs spanning across chasms of forgottenness. Chips and healed fractures act as composers, stringing together the music, each note a visible event housed within the decomposing skeleton. Fungi spreads and insects crawl through the corpse, adding voices and new renditions of the classical

All of the sudden we all fell into the ocean too. Our home became a house, Submerged into the water. Your clock fell silent as if the world ended. Your chair stays reclined and your glass is full. Our stem wall crumbles and rusts, All it can do is cry for help. What did remain, the garden you meticulously planted. Blooming more than ever— Your favorite, Violets.