My eyes painted the trees,
In evergreen strokes,
And the twigs started to grow,
As we drove by.

I knew it was impossible,
For any plant at this time of year,
To possibly bloom flowers,
But it was beautiful,
So I let it be.

We drove over a hill,
And onto a long flat rural road,
Canopied by branches and pine needles,
And I felt myself getting smaller.

The face in the mirror,
Is what scared me most of all,
For where my face should be,
Was the remnants of an addict.

Purple blotches scarred my cheeks,
And my nose was a shaded horizon,
But the mystery of who this person was,
Is what left the scars inside my head.