Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Look to the trees

These trees he swayed from
As though he, too, were a leaf.
He comes to whisper in my ear,
To let him out; I turn away.
I beg to turn him into a dream,
So I only see him when I sleep,
And I'm insomniac.
A week so deep in the forest,
That untrained eyes missed him.
He let the wind carry him home.
But he sits on my shoulders,
And I realized I'd hate
Him in death as well.
I feel high in his presence,
Wishing for a god to rip
Him from the living.
Because hell is no place
For a tormented ghost.
And so I start to plot,
To break away.
My bones are soft,
My tears are softer and
I knew all along I was
Only looking for an excuse.


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Look to the trees

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