Dirt, grass, leaves, rocks, trees.
Looking down at my grubby hands, scuffed up from foraging for a soul.
Light gleams through the branches above, yet my eyes cannot unsee the darkness around me.
Stumbling forward, tripping on the forest ground, searching for meaning in a meaningless land.
My eyes blink, salt and liquid try to blend, but nothing leaves the eyelids as they contort and bend.
After a lifetime of crying alone, my river of tears seems dried to the bone.
Heat subsides while the sun sets, coolness of night begins it's rise from the depths.