decay is bliss

decay is bliss... sounds like garbage mouthed off by some goth poser... produce of a wannabe...a reject. burdened by metaphor.

but decay is bliss.

let it wash over you.
i said.
the compost of your life.
yes, the one that was lent to you.
...let me correct myself...
the one that was rented to you.

pay it. heavily.
with such a great and suffocating price.
of course, while you dig your vast pit... your imagined abyss...
multitasking for a true denizen of the piscean age.

then when you bend your broken back again, he pushes you.
you try to grasp a hold in between your pathetic sobs.
pathetic.

you ungraciously fall.
yet... she was there... she knows you... of you.
in her silence you found what was missing in his silence.

she held you long. yet you did not resent it.
in her damp mustiness, you met your self... and your self... and your self.

and on her bosom you were able to stand up again.