Deep in the woods, cold sun on His face.
Trying to find a hiding place where He is safe.
From Him. Frisk myself.
No knife, no pills, no bleach or drugs,
just cold to crawl into.
Like a frozen barren womb that has,
as the last act of its painful life
barred my return to the warm.
That warmth is so close, an hours walk,
a quicker ride, ***** it, hide!
They're asking Him in but stay outside.
They will get through,
no circle keeps the good ones out.
He thinks he hears singing,"we're going to get you,
make you warm, make you smile,
for a while.."
He will just lie here and listen for the deer,
just for a little while more.
Just long enough to be so ill,
maybe then He can hide again.