Rust and Blood

Leaves like rust scattered 

 about the earth's bottom like a blanket on a sea of jellyfish,
squishing the dish of the diver's mask.
Choking.
     Gasping.
         Suffocating.
They keep falling like feathers from roadkill on a cloud.
                    Drifting.
            Sifting.
Melting.
Like a pool of blood they wither while bones quiver into a pot of broth
steaming with life but falling like death.
Branches bare.
There.
Without a care.
Pain screams the person.
A perception of pincushion reality slipping.
Dripping.
Tripping...on a splinter of a tree once forgotten,
lest it made cotton across the fields of white through the night a blight storm cometh with a thud.
          Leaves.
                Covered.
            In.
              Snow. 
                                       Rust and blood now five below.