Beauty and flies

Like rusty cuts I'm used to dust

the corrosion is eroding shave off the crust

It hurts to bleed but I like the lust

Of beauty in dreams of such

Ashes smoked remind me of the dead

And work makes me think of stones instead

Now when I breath there may be smoke

The laughter heard seems so much a joke

my lighters left and cigarettes right

and the voices in my head are out of sight

Ashes smoked remind me of the dead

and work makes me think of stones instead

I know I'm better suited for a paradise

When rustic edges smoke like flies

caught in a lantern of ameba's

fueling the nature that we lack.