The heart of all this confusion, resides among those summer graves, were I buried the bodies of my former selves


Etched in the rotted wood, resembels the signs that I used to know, graves made in the presence of a fox den


Reminders of the shackles that can arise, to step into the waters and swim to better lands


For it becomes a disease, a curse, a ******* sorrow


To progress into the darkness, and not get swalloed by the past abyss


But to find the tunnles, that lead to those fields you dreamed in solidarity


To smell the nature of peace, and eat the fruits of joy


To live