A Flys Feast
The buzzing ebbed and flowed as the flies lighted onto their decayed-fresh feast, all pallid and bloated.
Blackened and coated.
Piled morsels, festered and dead, lie together embraced, though cold.
Weighted like lead.
Survival is key in this age of darkness, which could mean to flee if one were not thoughtless.
Survival is key but connection is divine, life meaning nothing without me and mine.
A rebuilding of spirit, honor, and soul is the cornerstone against the spreading of mold in this abattoir transmuted world.
Be bold, be strong, be you.
Decide what in this life deserves YOU.
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