one of eight strapped to this tree
with threats of knifes that turn bark into skin
branches into limbs
if only the connections deep as my roots
did not entangle my own mortality if only they
could be severed easily as my leafs in fall
then perhaps my pinch dripped heart
would not punish those who hurt it
whom at first pruned with the promise of love
then betrayed with blades of unrequited rapture
those whom just did not understand the veins between
life and limb.