bits of shrapnel cut into my day old skin.
Defiantly determined to dodge the deluge,
I refuse to drown despite being unable to swim.
A pair of possessed peepers watch my dance,
branches bristle then crunch under unseen feet.
I am on auto-pilot. Failure's left me in a trance,
as I am hollow as the corpses of rotten trees.
I grab a handful of gangrene covered leaves—
squeeze every tear out of my stony heart.
Avert your gaze while this lifelong widow grieves,
with heaving chest, I fall apart.
This enchanted forest is haunted by my remorse,
unable to escape its curse unless I learn;
the end will come once I bury my dead, beaten horse,
until then, the world will not stop burning.
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