There is sickness.
Subtle insecurity in the tallest tree.
Pride in roots that try
and wont break
free.
Stabbed propped up
shadows
behind the kindest
smile trying the hardest.
Men leaving nothing
in death but souls.
Cliche communications
speaking in color.
Gray paths never make sense.
Never.
And death is
but not without life.
There is sickness.
Curving straight lines
trying to make
a point.