nothing but flowers

i feel the
heart attack
in my head
expanding
like the light
of an angel
already dead

i feel the
pain of purpose
in splintered bones,
the shards
of which
i've always been fed

i feel the
holocaust of motion
churning in my guts
and another ruined
war
as the maggots infect the cuts
sober and shining
like the angels
that defecate me,
slowly consuming
and setting me free

how the hand
slices away
this feeling of exposure
of the sickened blessings
for which we nurture
from tits of corpses
and trailing lies
and so soon enough
everyone dies

but we can pretend
to see nothing
but flowers