The rotting corpse

Of the planet looks

Like a tree.

With its decaying branches

And parasites leaching

Off and destroying

Their only hope of survival.

And like a tree, it sits

And waits for the determinate ending.

The broken wasteland

Of a human looks

Like an insect

That lives on the world tree.

It sits and waits,

Eating, sleeping, growing,

And infesting.

Then it dies and is forgotten,

Rotting alone

In the middle of nowhere,

And emitting a wretched smell.

Like the stink bugs I smashed

In my kitchen window.