when you grow up,
what will you be?
I always wished
to be food for the trees

to not have to suffer
for one more night,
but it's been a year
and I guess I'm alright.

my body still moves,
but someone else pulls the strings
my brain is too rotten
to bother with those things.

the roots grow out
from under my eyes.
do the flowers smell nice?
do you love their lies?

to become a puppet,
doesn't it hurt?
not when you are piloted
by mother earth.

she took away the molecules
that made me feel good,
now there is a blank face
under the hood.

the decomposing me
can no longer feel,
and yet I still have
the power to heal.

the power to give,
and give, and give,
is that truly
my reason to live?