Metamorphosis

There they are, The flowers of the air. I lie in the grassy fields looking at them float across the sky. They come down, sucking the drying crimson liquid from my stale cadaver. Their bright petals fluttering around, all of them gathering around me like wildfire. I am pleased with my death, as I get to stare at those beautiful flowers of the sky, Those beautiful flowers, known for being the most peaceful among the others. They suck from the pollen of the leafy flames that grow from the earth, But they enjoy the savory taste of the deceased, as well. I am content, I had done it, I had caused the self-destruction I had been yearning for. Now I may rest as I watch the flowers. They are more beautiful, More charming than my deadly self-hatred. Now, they are gone, and so am I. Maybe in my next life, I’ll also be a creature of such beauty.