A broken branch sways,
the only movement,
Everything else as still as a painting
My steps crush what remains.
A busy worm drills
the earth. I feel like saying,
"Stop you idiot, don't waste
the last bit of yourself"
There is nothing here except death.
I can smell it, It curls my skin
My hair stands, a chill runs down
under the cruel afternoon sun.
It dries my mouth before I open it.

It was all green, until the two-legged beasts came
They ripped apart my home, my family
And years later when I return
I realized this was no returning,
this was no coming back,
This was the End.