Metamorphosis initiates, combustion throwing ember, harnessing an inebriating sorrowful pain.
Therein, Melancholy is not an adjective but the noun who replaced me.
Transitioning as a monochromatically plumaged pheonex ascending fragmented scorched boisterously wailing, "No!"
I did not die. Not yet.
Depression has leveled me, mercilessly razed into ghastly decrepit land consumed by humanity depleting and depreciating, I'm continuously expensed and finally eroded completely away.
Returning fiercely, a lapping Atlantic with previous life contained within every forcefully rolling wave.
Behold, marine entities coexisting peacefully depths below the briny surface of me, vexing of complexity conscious realms have yet explored, justifications unanimously outnumbered and unknown as to why we've brought destruction home.
So instead, I became known as Mother Earth, I am one with aqua jets, cold and roaring, violently crashing a spray of salt-laced water, plummeting eyes daring to take their gaze to mine.
Marvelously enchanting, mystical secretive creation, I amaze, curl myself along lips of all whom be parched.
Those feeble escaping humidity and heat brutal without my shore, they stoop to drink and I indulge them, replenishing.
Transcending, I'm now energy coursing through hydrated veins, en route highways to interstellar nations galaxies beyond.
Known only by species dormant though surviving along the creases of my left kidney, the extraterrestrials found to be symmetrical of all beings.
Such diligence in our waiting, waxing, waning, gaseous masses spinning feverously, anticipating the arrival of an explosively releasing flame?