Geysers of Blood

I, the beehive, feel the buzzing and the progress coursing throughout my being. My color stays rich via the rich labor of countless centralized thinkers dying, slaving, and reproducing on their honor. Infinite planets are illuminated by a great, grinding, instinctual fear. A notion that the universe is in constant contact with your bright and silly demise. The jungles are hungry and the towns need rich soil and need it now.

In our labor we perspire mud as gray and brown clouds force upon us acid rain. The valves spin out of control, the sparks fly, and the gasoline begins to leak. Don't light that match now! Gravy pours from the windows of the skyscrapers and hospitals are drowning in mustard. The stop signs grow wings and fly away! Our helicopters take flight and head out to sea. The silver, smooth, flawless corporate structure explodes on its way into the stratosphere and the oceans evaporate, leaving the whales and the cruise liners in free fall to the now shining and gleaming abyss. The trees tear off their branches and the churches dismantle themselves brick by brick. The stars at the war memorials rage war with the tourists and the locusts do away with the golfers. The earth begins spinning towards the sun. The wise-men laughing, the greedy crying, and the children in awe, the end was coming. I, the beehive, fall off my tree and my centralized thinkers all wither and greet their demise.

Hiding in the depths of a deep, dark jungle, warmed by the fire I have by chance given birth to, I gazed at the stars. They spelled out the true nature of my finite state in my infinite travels. I am content with being at the mercy of what lay further than my flame can illuminate, for it is what pulls the strings, making me dance about like an excitable dog in search for the source of the grounded scent. I look towards my mortality, tucked behind the blackened trees and stalking carnivores in this dripping, steaming jungle, and see that it will find its way to me in due time. Even as I write these words, people drop to the ground like brown, furry apples from a dead, mossy tree and others emerge into life and gaze upon the beautiful twilight of infancy and youth like glittering reflections from the dew on the morning grass adding texture to the thin fog. Soon, not just I, but all who hold life within themselves will decay and move beyond awareness. In the jungle I see colonies of ants undergoing disaster and caterpillars turning to butterflies. I see worms convulsing and birds convening. I see leaves descending and vines ascending. I see human comedies and human tragedies. I see a diverse and fruitful journey towards my demise. It's worth it.