Life is just like fruit.

         Supine in a grave of my design. Earth slowly covers me. Suffocation imminent. Willing myself to hold on and get up. Moving is impossible. Did I place myself here? Allowing this to be my eternal grave of perdition. Starting this was a place to hide, to run away from everything. Nothing could reach me. Especially not myself. Numbness only resides here. A bottomless void fades into an entirety. Not remembering when I stopped finding the line where numbness should end then self should begin. No savior can deliver me from the wasteland I have become. No rescue. No safety net. Everything around me became infectious then I became breathless. Feeling death encroaching welcoming it more over time. The arrival of the end, asphyxiation in all its fruition. A secret hidden place that slowly drifted into a disease. Pestilence sliding everything I've known into obliteration. Giving me no heartbeat. Termination. A grave dug by only me. This grave is at capac...

The land of dreary where nothingness looms. The trees sag, arc and bend bound for the ground. Sound seems muffled, stale deeply tainted forevermore. There is no wafting fragrant effulgence. The grass just isn't quite green. All the stones carry the burdens marked by sadness. Flowers here are watered with tears. The paths are worn by heavy-hearted feet. Birds don't sing happy songs here if they sing at all. Their ballads sound of forlorn days demised. Distant fathomless clouds swell and fill. Then dump their contents on faces who aren't content. Although, we dress to impress here there is no one to delight. Countless unimpressed faces, some full of fright. Once the day falls into shadows and the night creeps upon this place; many of the faces disappear then stillness fills the space. No whispers of voices tender and sweet. There are no moments of boundless embrace. No feelings are burgeoning with grace. Days and nights cycle through again and again. Yet and still, one thing...