The sticky sap crawls down my limbs
Violating the purity of flowers and foliage all around
I want to become one with the trees
One with the garden and dirt
From which I sprouted.

I look at the crimson endlessly pouring from my wound.
It lets me know that for now I am still human.
Not yet plant or earth but soon.
Soon I will be.

Maybe the creatures
will have families and love
So in death I could have
What I could not receive in life.
My bones will finally be a home
that they never were for me.