Green Vines wrap around them maliciously
While the falling rust chips paint them red
From the iron bones that hold concaving room
To weak to stay straight to tired to fall, For
Death breaths its last breath all around
But still only beauty enters their veins
And the euphonious sounds of bliss
from the ground, where they live out their decay
as if they were rooted there and could not move
Or maybe just didn’t feel the need too
And simply were utterly content,
So thy two just continued to bloom
under the dirty room, made of a strange glass:
all can see the beauty of their falling in away
where it feels good,
But they see no one, each are alone, Together
Feeling the feels like their viewers, probably more
So There They grow
There they will wilt,
from a feverishly cold state of Alone
but die contently together they will
And still dream of each other; Forevermore

 
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