Here writes the roots deep in the soil, wet and dark with not space to feel under the weight of our rotten, old weeping willow. The top limbs are old and covered in blood and shame. So long ago did they commit acts that turned our core black and withered us in state and soul. Tarnished is our trunk, for too much of us drank fire water and wailed at its younger parts about missed opportunities to grow. Over the ages, we've colored our rings with dark red and copper, making us knotted and stubborn, unable to sway in even the gentlest of breezes. For when we once stood straight and true, now we are but bent and broken, like a shadow upon the ground cast at night. Crushed under the heavy burden of ourselves.