Petals & Pigsty

The tendrils of my hair fall down to my feet,
Covering my body in a curly black silk.
In this form, I grasp my mortality,
Born to live and die in vain.
I keep count of the petals I pick.
Flowing down towards my toes in a synchronized dance.
The beauty of nature now turning to stare me in the eyes.
A wounded fawn,
Or a pig in his sty,
Or a butterfly carried only by the whim of the wind.
In one single moment I'm changed completely,
Now unrecognizable from who I once was.
I melt into the ground,
Letting nature drown me.
Sinking into pure and unusual happiness.
Letting the flora grow over my heart.