Skulls

Skulls and roses, skulls and crossbones, most of people who died alone. Skulls in corpses, skulls in the living, ‘til they decompose, protection is what they’re giving. Protect the mind, that tissue so soft, but easily shaken, easily sent aloft. Protecting a soul, so sweet and tender, but nothing, not even nature, can live forever. They give you medicine, sell you lies, say “this will make you better.” When there wasn’t anything wrong with you, ever. They give you Churches, where those skulls hide under dirt, and tell you to put their god first. But for life, for creativity, for the freedom to be yourself, you thirst. And you know your gods were there, holding your hand, first. You know your gods created the skull that protects your beautiful mind, the flesh that carries your soul so blessed by the divine. Filled by gods and goddesses, your soul a creature unaffected by time. A creature that’s had many skulls, lived countless lives. And you will live again, another skull to protect your blessed mind.