Whilst being in the midst of what is supposedly considered a peaceful setting, I still feel deranged.
I'm always alone at bonfires in the night with a crowd of people and my demons dance in the shadows of their faces; teasing me as they trace every cheek bone and seesawing at a distance within the woods.
Wishing for better days that aren't tainted with impervious black smoke and ash but I no longer trust the wind.
I no longer trust the trees, this rusted out fire-pit, or those cunning koi fish in that pond regardless of all of the years in lessons they've taught me.
Because I remain burning up
waking up
breaking out
in cold sweats and I have never thought of a tree as a waste of space before.