Written by Ari Chattoo
Art by Wim De graaf
“tell me, what does thou seek?”
the way soft, sweet spring blossoms must wither into grey, flaccid skins,
the way rich, plump fruit is picked
just a shade too young and must rot—
decayed and displayed,
mottled by maggots and defiance,
stinking to high heaven’s as the world looks on.
such is life as life passes,
in suffering and cyclic harmony.
in death, everything must moulder.
beating hearts necrosed under scrutiny,
as sometimes there are wounds that time can only worsen.
bleeding lacerations that fester.