Right now I'm sitting on the verge of a hill and I can't even spare a blink. They are screening some movie about how autumn makes the saddest orange leaf to leave its tree and the tears are threatening to leave my eyes but I wont let them this time. Not because I am with my entire group of ant friends and they will drown with my enormous tears. Not because you have teared me apart to freaking pieces and you still want to burn the bitter rests, but because you don't deserve them, not even the slightest approximation of tear molecule coming from me (or whichever other pine tree you have made feel this way).

You made me feel as wonderful as a whole tree green from the spring ******, just to drop me to my lowest as the same tree at the winter ******, and that is not fair. I opened up my rib cage and let you explore every inch of the inner working of my photosynthetic organism and you doubted if I was real because I pumped blood. I could made light turn into different forms of art and you could only make my art turn into blood coming down my branches and trunk like the rain drops that fell between the leafs that laid perfectly in my hair, shaking my whole system, tearing my trunk apart.

My branches itches and my leafs claim to be attacked, and my wrists are ready to be destroyed and ridiculized.
But i won't, i won't, i won't.
Or at least I'm trying not to.