#unsolved riddles

The unknown smells ripe. A full out punch; peaches and bananas sitting in the sun, going soft and insecure about their existence. 

Dark side of the slice is the moon foretelling the wrath of angels within a peel of rotting fruit.  

The sky is tripping on its shoelaces; the ground pokes holes through the clouds and it laughs, it laughs, laughs too loose and shaken.

Unknown pulls her shroud closer to her chest. Shoulders hunch while she sidesteps the fallen matter of fragile space. 

She is browning around the edges with a knowing stronger than the shell that falls off of her body . . .