I am lost in these woods.
The trees sway and shudder in cold wind,
leafless branches, like hooked talons
that shred my eyes while running through the night,

To lay these burdens down and surrender to this cold ground
All thrashing against the dawn, all fitted throes against feelings still so raw.
Freedom and peace come in the form of morning's release,
and so I will drink stale wine until pressuring this waking dream to cease.