Hollow Branches - Root Beneath The Spiral

O Root of Hollow, drink my voice, Unmake the flesh I once called choice. Beneath the stone, beneath the shame, The spiral turns without a name. No throne above, no fire-bright crown— The root is king, and it pulls me down. I slit my palm on bark-bound truth, Let the sap drink back my youth. The dirt remembers what I forgot— That every god will one day rot. Hollow be my marrow, Sacred be the spade. I bow to soil and fungus, To the dark that gods evade. Feed me to the root, Let the spiral gnaw my name— In death I find the altar, In decay, the sacred flame. I carved the glyph into my chest, A sigil made for worms to bless. The forest took my shape away— Now I walk with nothing but clay. O Root of Hollow, drink my voice, Unmake the flesh I once called choice. Blood for bark, grief for seed, I give myself to what I need. Hollow be my marrow, Sacred be the spade. I bow to soil and fungus, To the dark that gods evade. Feed me to the root, Let the spiral gnaw my name— In death I find the altar, In decay, the sacred flame. Blessed be the broken bone, The composted soul, the overthrown. The forest screams without regret— Worship in rot, and you’ll never forget. The Spiral turns. The Hollow feeds. And I, beneath it, Bloom unseen.