I am the Ever

This is something I wrote literally two minutes ago and it is extremely rough, but something worth working on I think. I'm not exactly sure what my goal was with writing this, a combination of sweet food and sorrow, and it moved into bodies of the earth that the dead are our ever and are forever in the ever of our world... Most of the time things like this don't make sense and I hope this makes just a little bit of sense.

The inside of a mourning group is a wind tunnel. Souls swirl together in some hellish wide-mouthed image that Mr. Munch knows too well but doesn’t know it like this. When the sky opens its ducts and allows its heart to split apart like two clouds traveling across the sky, slowly pulling away from each other like cotton candy from the paper stick, like cotton candy from your lips. The sky fell on top of me, it ran down my head over my cheeks like rolling hills and inside my mouth, it dripped over my sloped nose and onto my chin like syrup over the edges of pancakes. It found its way deep inside my shoes and soaked through the stockings I decided to wear today even though I hate stockings, it soaked nonetheless just like sponge cake and strawberry juice. The birds fell around us and echoed their wailing through the tree branches, bouncing off everything that reverberates sound so their voices wound around the tunnel and fell into beat with us and the falling, their little bodies and fluttering wings beat against the ground. My little body and fluttering wings beat against the ground. A mallet beating meat, thinning it to transparency, my face fell into the mud and yearned to be buried into the sea along with her, my one true Gaia, shouting from the depths of my, depths of me, depths of my heartwoodcorpsecoreskeleton.
I am the cotton candy stuck to your mouth, clinging and holding on to your lips, dissolving on your tongue in sweetness spreading across your soft and red, warm cavity. I am the clouds pulling apart, swelling with years of wetness, soaked with the sorrow of every land and filled to capacity, reaching across the velvet night onto your cheeks, in your hair, down your face, crawling inside your shoes to keep your toes company. I am the hills of rolling cheeks, cheeks of rolling hills, green with pasture and dotted white with woolen life. The teeth of lambs bite my verdant skin and nip off bits of nourishment. I am the rushing waters of time filling the spaces between your fingers and ear drums as you leap into my body of azure sparkling just for you.
Inside a mourning group the ever is for ever and there is nothing else left except the birds on the ground and their bodies beating, beating, beat and their songs, their song, filling the spaces between now and ever and accompanying us into the ever of for ever until I am no longer the cotton candy on your lips and I have dissolved into your sweet sweet teeth, nibbling my green pastures for your sustenance and lapping at my azure skin for relief. I am the ever for ever. I am the ever.