As the stinking flesh melts off the body of its unfortunate host.
Rain falls upon your dripping locks.
Blood pools around your sodden feet;
Or is it rain?
No one knows.
My grave is not marked.
Not even in your still beating heart.
The lantern in your freckled hand falls to the overindulged green.
Reds and umbers engulf the gluttons.
This fire fears none and takes all.
Now your grave is unmarked in their hearts and mine.
Nothing lives in a place like this.