•metamorphism of me• [finished]

internal garden

no sky, just flesh.
no sun, just the warmth of blood.
the rhythmic thump
of a heart as soothing
as the sigh of
wind through trees.
vines grasp out like
fingers around internal organs,
moss grows in
thick layers around bone.
rose petals flutter in the breeze
of a breath through lungs.
i don't decay, i grow.
i am not a corpse,
but a garden.