bleed from finger tips
pressed into plastic keys
repeat routine regularly
until wrunged and wrinkled
some of us are just built wrong
you hear yourself say out loud
dream of escape to Aokigahara
where the trees whisper your name
and even darkness is palpable
you can taste it on your lips
the hemlock firs surrounding
dirt and parsnips on your tongue
your skin itches and you are
wildly uncomfortable in the vessel
sleep now, the forest demands