Pines littered my unlively heart, once a rooted place; with branches of family, sprouts nothing more than unwanted pain.
Trees filtered the rain and hale, marching upon my veins; leaves wither now, roaming a terrain of deserts and unanswered lies.
Tumbleweeds, each one of a kind, bellow in the wind that dried my brain, refraining the saplings from hope, holes built in my body for no other process than causing emptiness, a sense of memory that was once before.
Not anymore, I feel nothing.
I do nothing.
I am nothing.
I'm inhumane, unwillingly walking to the past; lurking from the windows, one broken and one stained, I know now that my hurt was never tamed.
It just laid, pulsing through my feet; hiding as I am now, you hear a sound from outside, a purposeful blow from the wind.
There goes my brain.
There goes my pain.
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