Laughter pours from nature’s unseen mouths,
swaying in the wind, dancing to broken oaths.
The air is fresh with lies and betrayal,
while grass waits patiently to impale.
Aspens stand watch beneath a bruised sky,
their branches scratching questions they never deny.
The earth keeps count of every detail,
carving my name where the lost ones wail.
No path remains beneath the sky,
only echoes of reasons left to die.
The pines stand silent, cold and frail,
as I become another tale.