The Beginning it Knows

Realization

Under the livid shell of sky,
the Earth long ago has died.
Rigor set in eons ago, but only just reached us now, plied                                                                              with the breath that screeches across her body, no longer coursing through,                                          no longer from within.                                                                                                                                                        The banshee soul of the Earth screams, and plucks at gnats who burrow and dissect;        morbidly fascinated by the spoiled meat of itself.                                                                                            Her breath squelching in in the tar pits of her lungs. 

Coughing: "I wish to speak with her son. The green thumb with the sheers."
"She doesn't have any children. She hasn't given birth yet."
In the waves that emanate through the air, she shudders.
The wail solidly pierces through ephemeral flesh: a c-section.
Still, live_birth.
"When are we? Has the world not changed?"
"The cosmos as we know it has decomposed. We wade in its lividity.
It drips virtuality, paradise and despair; they are side by side.                                                                    One looks through the window at the other. One has only to close one eye.
A one fits into nothing in this glass case."
White shaded rainbows arc across the screen, blank but for...
 "White is all colours melted together. Did you know that?
All seven coloured lights on the spectrum, fused, make white and their absence the opposite.  Which isn't black, it's nothing.  Empty and void of light and skin." -
She cried, laughter. "Blood is red."
"But only when it's spilled. It's the same dead colour as the sky inside."