We Will All One Day Feed The Flowers Roots Poem by gregory collins

The night will come,
embracing me in its mirror.
The teeth of its iron protecting no one,
not even the learned.

and my stomach is empty,
only a stone out of place.
Yet slowly, deeper and deeper down.
The stars cannot not be beautiful.
They face the world, hands in pockets,
born under the sign of ecstasy.

and now that i know about scorching my body,
and boiling my thumbnails
as a perfect, textbook answer.
I'd have to say when i am an old man
drunk again in front of their fire.
My mud brown eyes will be an ambulance,
and the nurses will forget to sleep all night long.
Taking anyone's side against me;
of which no one has ever come back,
sure of their rightful place.