I have a thing for dead things. Or rather, the almost dead things.
People, feelings, desires, hopes, aspirations, leaves, twigs and trees.
I like the way they shape up so differently from the alive. No pretense, no rigidity.
They snap at the easiest blow and prick the strongest.
They stand out in the lust of nature's art and refuse to waltz to the wild winds.
They make noises and whispers of the other worlds and realms they caress in and out of.
They're there but not there, both at the same time.
They twist time to stand still on the edges of their degrading selves and they make you fall in love with the truth of their non-existential existence.
In all honesty, I have a thing for almost dead things.
They leave behind the scabs of life and delve into another version of reality that is far from apprehension.
They are the proof of non-permanence and that is beautiful in its own raw way.
People, feelings, desires, hopes, aspirations, leaves, twigs and trees.
I like the way they shape up so differently from the alive. No pretense, no rigidity.
They snap at the easiest blow and prick the strongest.
They stand out in the lust of nature's art and refuse to waltz to the wild winds.
They make noises and whispers of the other worlds and realms they caress in and out of.
They're there but not there, both at the same time.
They twist time to stand still on the edges of their degrading selves and they make you fall in love with the truth of their non-existential existence.
In all honesty, I have a thing for almost dead things.
They leave behind the scabs of life and delve into another version of reality that is far from apprehension.
They are the proof of non-permanence and that is beautiful in its own raw way.
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