Six feet under us, centipedes, are sucking on your clavicle; while flies, scheme, on the walls of your coffin.
They both, take dignified delight in the devouring of your bag of bones.
The smell of your dried blood, and rotten flesh, fills the fly’s nostrils, and arouses the colonized ants, and arachnids.
The spiders, that have spun their webs, within you precious skull; anxiously, await their prey.
And, as they watch the worms, wolf down the rest of your carcass; they ponder, what’s in front of them, but the final cycle of death.
The integrity, of this sadistic ceremony, comes naturally to these insects; as it is the key to their survival.
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