Decay is not a poetic thing.
You, in the mirror,
pulling dead leaves from your hair,
dusting off your fingernails,
weeding around your ankles,
pinching mushrooms from your neck.
Do you remember what your body looks like?
over the moon, under the sea
over the moon, under the sea
Decay is not a poetic thing.
You, in the mirror,
pulling dead leaves from your hair,
dusting off your fingernails,
weeding around your ankles,
pinching mushrooms from your neck.
Do you remember what your body looks like?
PLUTO BLOOMING 