Thine leaves art wilted, flying to and fro,
And thy limbs reach out as if in sorrow.
"Dost thou not remember what once was held?”
Thy branches crack whilst leaves into dance meld.
The moon doth rise as children’s laughter rings.
Through the night thy old hollow solemnly sings
Of twisted grins and melancholy wolf cries,
And how every man thee meet sadly dies.
But thy eternal heartbreak shall not wane
Thy every breath will be met with pure pain;
Death shall not return thee to its icy grip.
Forevermore, thou shalt bring people to Death.
Until the rope that hangs on thine branch cease,
Cursed to be known only as The Hanging Tree.

once upon a time
there was
a circle

and it drummed
and it
strummed

and the lump
in
my
throat
the size of a tyrant's
fist
dissolved
into
a pure
white light feeling

and i was a

person

a part of something
not apart
not asunder  
a heartspace coming coming

a star starring

afar
in the distance
guiding my lost feet toward
an oasis
that actually

is

a new start an art of being dreaming awake made

for you

a land of yay to hold in the palm of your hand and
a vibrating tone
resonates in that numb sternum
a tone that
lay
one
shade
away
from the ten thousand and ten whites of the first light
ever lit

Her womb receiving you
again

The reason for my sudden disappearance.*

I will never forget how it felt to be on top of the world. I felt like a mermaid, like the ones that guide the ships through the sea, misleading and ultimately leading many men to their demise.
On the front of our speed boat in the most popular tourist destination in my small town, with the wind blowing through my hair, time stood still. I felt invincible.
Hell, back then I was invincible. Every teenager likes to be a melodramatic little ****, and I was no different.
It was the summer before I started college, the summer where I would depart from all my adolescence and emerge in the adult world.
Right now is where you can mentally insert the sound of a record player being violently stopped.
That summer where I felt on top of the world was the calm before the storm.
Falling off the top of the world hurts, and here I sit with my only friend being Atlas, trying to collect myself.
Who knew there would be a type-writer in hell?

I wish someone would have warned me how rough everything would be. The movies make it out as if the transition between being a child and an adult is smooth and gradual, but for me, that wasn't the case.
I went to bed a child and woke up wishing I hadn't taken the time for granted.

A lonely girl fell in love
With the city skylines in
the horizon of time and
Distance. She lived for
Taking walks & watching,
Listening, being near all
The different stories who
Talked like she couldn't;
She had never learned to.

Her solitary soul found
Peace in pacing streets;
In passing and passively
Partaking in this company.
Perhaps a small smile or
A windswept "hello", she
Was happy. Always near
But never with, just this.
She needed nothing more.