Cave atmosphere

I was always in that cave under the death’s guardian tree’s trunk. Stuck by the bleeding roots in my ankles and wrists of tight branches. I would be soon a soul ramification; I would give wonder and spell to that murderer valley.
There you came and you were a flower… that demon tree doesn’t bear pure flowers, only buds which spout out fiery fervent blood, acid that corrodes flesh. Your silky petal’s white pierced through my timbered old heart and made him spout out that red-dark sperm which watered and changed you into the most beautiful ruddy rose ever dreamed. And so I painted your petals forever. And love ruled that valley for good.