We grow like gunk in a neglected aquarium. Or rot like a log in a stagnant lake. Shifting. Slowly sinking in the silt. All providing, all devouring Earth. Digested into the muck. Deep in her belly, slowly turning back to the mud we once crawled from. All will be consumed, no morsel of life spared, for the appetite of death knows no limit. Imbibing the nectar. As we slowly trickle down, growing cold with the ground. Idolatry of the headstone. Only in death are we complete. Close the book.
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