The feeling of gritty dirt between your toes and under your finger nails
The sound of pine needles falling on the rain guard of your tent
I walk outside and the cool crisp morning air stings my nostrils
Nothing could wake me up better than the smell of wood smoke on a cold morning

It's early, so the sun hasn't touched the earth, and the sky is still soft
It's a deep blue, but not dark enough to be night, and you can see bright corners
Stretching from the east, but the towering trees make it hard to see
I slip a packet of tea into a mug of hot water and sit next to the fire

I stare at the pair of muddy hiking boots sitting next to a tall mountain pine
Where should I go today? What places shall I find?

Everyday the images come back
And everyday I want to throw up
And bang my head against something
Hard enough to make me stop feeling

I don't talk about it anymore
I nod my head
I groan a little
But the truth is
I want to cut out part of my brain
Or find another way to forget

the lies that hurt the most
are the ones you tell yourself