Schlampe.

the path from bud,
to leaf,
to flower,
to fruit,
is a long and winding road indeed, duders.
that's that stay gold type jauns, y'heard?
however,
the way back home to rot and ruin
is a sh!t-sure shorter hop and skip to the compost pile,
and it's downhill the whole way there.
ripening.
becoming better by being bitter until the sugar kicks in
with sunshine's saving grace.
that's that sweet spot in the middle.
ripeness.
the fulcrum of fruition, quite literally,
is a delicately balanced apogee of real life
and actualized potential.
(look it up)
that's a hard style, neighbors.
the highest point is the farthest away.
i'm watching events unfold,
and developments resolve.
teleport to the garden of original sins, son:

blueber's.
abbrev'd, mutha-b!tches.
i doo-doo that!
you ninjas may see the burgeoning bounty implied
by the first blush of maturity on these darkening orbs of delight.
i am however not delighted.
i am de-lit.
y'know?
the bright bright bright spots have been removed.
awwwwwww, man.
you'd hate that if it wasn't so clever, huh?
i know.
never mind sour grapes and fruits of knowledge of good and evil,
i'm on that anti-oxidant rust-proof ironclad activation!
nutrients in the form of blue balls?
if so,
i'm the healthiest man alive, mutha-lickers.
*
it takes less time to wither than it does to flourish.
that fleet fleet of treats migrates far south of heavenly rays
to hotter-than-heckfiery filth in a matter of days.
the fact that the myriad facets of fertilization factor in
on both ends isn't lost on me.
F*ing is the same as sh!tting is the same as rotting.
they all nourish life, after a fashion...
fertilized by fertilizer?
eventually, the circles come back around again.
infinite potential as a seed, enveloped in mouldering remains
fed by decomposing dead bodies and doo-doo butter.....
pieces of sh!t born of pieces of sh!t borne by pieces of sh!t.
we're in a dark place today, huh?
de-lit.
i told you so;
never quiet, never soft.....