When Things Turn Ugly Poem by Wamii Flyer

Nature goddess with injured nine tails
Born from fresh schizolite
Wearing a cotton candy gown

In the battle arena
Fighting horn to horn
With the god of malnourishment

Her weapon of choice: a flower scythe
Handle wrapped in lively green vines
Blooming tons of pink flowers on the tip

His weapon of choice? Dirt
Full of iron and worms
Dead, black, and clumpy, falling from his arms

Although she's tricky
Her garden can't thrive in this rotten soil
Shedding their pedals with a whine

Her scythe also struggles to hold up
Withering with each strike
A mental draining never seen before

Her terrible faith
Suffering at the necrosed hands
Of the ultimate deficiency

She declares defeat
With only her left arm in the air
Rest drowning in mud
Becoming what she created herself from

''People always underestimate poor commons. Look at where you are, beneath my feet.''