Insects Dream Of Beautiful Fluid

He lay there, the king, under the moonlit trees in the forest of his own heaven. The light blanketing the leaves with white existing in a great lambent dark sickened him, for his kingdom is painted in blood and the flags are tattered on their poles. Earth's green and brown veins enshroud the school-houses and maggots parade around in the fermenting gizzards of dead livestock in town-square. The shadows are still and cold and the people are colder still. The vultures circle overhead and the clouds rain only dust. The dams are leaking and the clocks tick towards the inevitable end. This treacherous tick rings like a thousand cannons firing behind the skull of the once grand king.
It rains in the forest of the king's own heaven. The trees secrete milk that spirals and dances in the bubbling mud and the shrieking insects of the night go and search for their beautiful fluid. Roots encircle and take hold of the king, forcing upon him the embrace of a universe that does not tire or falter. The elements pain him to the marrow and he dreams of his bed of fine linens and it's feather pillows. A candlelit dinner in his crooked, leaking dining hall was what he screamed for. Nature's mantle of strength descends on he, the king of a grand utopia, for he never did see the beautiful fluid flooding and gushing all around him like magnificent rapids in the river of cacophony. The river of time. The river of space.
When the grand utopia was finally done away with and the vultures dead of starvation, wind came to blow away what was left of the king in the dry desert of his own indifference. The dust of he floating about in the air is now breathed in by the wandering man of the desert. His physical need for an oasis does not mean he in search for one. For the time being, he is allowing pain to be his beautiful fluid, in divine flow in the dryest of dry. The bloody, tender feet soldier on and the sand blowing in his ears make a great symphony. His dream factory is excited to see what new dystopias he can laugh with. The shrieking insects continue their search, their dreaming, their mission to find the beautiful fluid.