a piece of moon and the sunflower star

Living hell is called paradise

If you leave me,
My rotten body on ground.
Maybe flowers will grow
From my biggest wound.
They will grow very bright,
Deep from my blank mind.
It might be a wonderful sight
For the people of your kind.
You might see roots all around my heart
Only if you dare to scratch all the upper parts.
You might wonder how my limbs look so green
Because they forgot how to scream,
When each piece was torn perfectly with beak.
Veins announced their end, now no one to seek.

But people say if you leave my rotten body on ground
It will be eaten by a man or hound.
They say the second one hurts less
Even though both of them looks for some flesh.