My thoughts are killing me in this wild overgrown mind,
Where lumps of ash and debris slowly fall downhill.
Water replaced by the blood in his veins.
Where once swallows swooped down from branches in summer,
Crows now crawl out from cracks in his skin.
As he swallows the lump in his throat,
He just wishes it would rot away.

An overgrown mesh of brambles and pain.
Mud and grit coursing through his bones,
Clogging up routes and cutting off his joy,
A broken boy and an overgrown mind.