are you nervous?
when you're all alone in a field, and the grass is sweeping in uniform, rustling eerily, the sparkling dew is all dried off, the sun no longer brightens the leafy blades, and the dirt seems to sweep up around you, biting at your ankles and snapping at your heels, while summoning the empty plain to become a monstrous ocean, intent on swallowing you up in its dry crackling jaws of crabgrass and little stones.
are you nervous?
when you're walking through a deserted forest trail, and the sun shines ominously through the heavy canopy, stagnant and suffocating hanging above your head, and the birds sing strange songs from the distant branches of gnarled trees, and the rotting logs that are so prevalent, poisonous and melting into the bowels of the earth through the caked dirty ground, and the forest sways at one tempo, loud with mysterious silence.
are you nervous?
when you are in your little garden, and the flowers spiral with suspicious agility, and they innocently hang on their pointed stems, the roses aggressively introverted within their pride, green botanical knives poked out of its sides, prepared to prick and hungry for blood, and the foxgloves, with their purple beauty hiding their terrible fatal secret, eyeing you hungrily as the next victim, and those pruned bushes, what secrets do they hide inside their thick walls, what evil lies within their core, the nursery, beautiful and deadly, smells the air for weakness.
-Pamplemousse
when you're all alone in a field, and the grass is sweeping in uniform, rustling eerily, the sparkling dew is all dried off, the sun no longer brightens the leafy blades, and the dirt seems to sweep up around you, biting at your ankles and snapping at your heels, while summoning the empty plain to become a monstrous ocean, intent on swallowing you up in its dry crackling jaws of crabgrass and little stones.
are you nervous?
when you're walking through a deserted forest trail, and the sun shines ominously through the heavy canopy, stagnant and suffocating hanging above your head, and the birds sing strange songs from the distant branches of gnarled trees, and the rotting logs that are so prevalent, poisonous and melting into the bowels of the earth through the caked dirty ground, and the forest sways at one tempo, loud with mysterious silence.
are you nervous?
when you are in your little garden, and the flowers spiral with suspicious agility, and they innocently hang on their pointed stems, the roses aggressively introverted within their pride, green botanical knives poked out of its sides, prepared to prick and hungry for blood, and the foxgloves, with their purple beauty hiding their terrible fatal secret, eyeing you hungrily as the next victim, and those pruned bushes, what secrets do they hide inside their thick walls, what evil lies within their core, the nursery, beautiful and deadly, smells the air for weakness.
-Pamplemousse
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