Four days were spent in that forsaken forest.
Free will handed over to the whims of malignant melodies.
We tromped through copses of camping tents
searching, I think, for something left behind
amid the hanging haze of dragon's breath and firewater.
We waded through the crowd of **** grinning hipsters;
smuggled ourselves to a safe zone and set down the sleeping mat
where we did anything but.
The days burned quick and hot like the cigarettes we smoked.
We slept through the thunderstorms that rolled across the mountaintops,
drowning us in our dreams.
Somewhere down the path, we realized we were connected,
two strands of the same length of rope, braided to make one;
we would save lives, or hang, together.

As I forced my way
into that surprisingly warm
Slip n Slide, I felt
as if I was suffocating.

Some unknown ambition
pulled and tugged at me.
I couldn't pull away
from its grips. Pink

fresh, flesh became white as
the blood made its hasty escape.
A rigor mortis had found its way
into my living limb. It was

almost unnatural, yet somehow
so appropriate. I had never
felt so at ease in my own
skin. Here and there, my head

brushed against the firm sides.
Plastic tubing was my tour guide.
A forest fire, raging, engulfed my body.
My hair stood on end. Then came

the splash!