Within a forest of gray leaves
Like little flames devoid of heat
Missing their color like a ghost
Just shadows of what once had grown.

Enclosed by trunks and trees so lost,
Covered in twigs and withered moss,
Never been loved, never been found,
Just lonely bones above the ground.

Dead petals dance with ghostly plants
To frozen wind and silent chants,
A requiem of crumbling skulls,
A hymn for all their decayed hulls.

Silvery mists of countless lies,
Swallows all of the forest's cries,
Fog masks the guilt of countless sin
That brush and grass carry within.

Amidst all of this hopeless mold,
A shed stands strong against the cold,
A house so lonely yet so warm,
Held in the forest's dying arm.

The place where I once hid myself,
'tween ****** books in rotten shelves,
The place where I live on my own,
Made of my flesh and crimson bone.

We walked and walked
along the trail
the ground made wet
by mist
and morning chill.

The limbs of oak and maple trees
stretched their shadow—
a collage of red and orange leaves
settled beneath our feet.

October whispered soft spirits over us.

you’re the best song that ever drenched my ears
a story filled with wines and tears
the umbrella that kept my rains from my lips
a moon that lights beyond an eclipse
pain that is worthy to be felt
a mistake that I’d commit till I melt
you are a past where I have been
the present that cannot ever be seen
a future that I will never have
and the memory that shall be always loved

I better get out of the woods

Let's have a party
And run down to the WOODS.
Dance in the pines
And let the speakers entertain the creatures of the night.
We’ll bring Light bulbs
And let them twinkle among the hanging branches
Reflecting green off of the moss and leaves
Run through the ferns
And fall drunk within the logs and dirt
Maybe WE'll be dead in the morning...
But at least it will be peaceful
The birds will watch us sing from their nests
wondering what strange creatures are plaguing their peaceful woods.
As the night passes,
We will sleep.
and wake in the morning
Lucky that we survived the night.

You will know, you'll feel the change,
That calls on parts of you most strange,
And through the wooded halls, you'll pass,
To gather for Its ancient mass.

The fallen towers' decaying bark,
Will harbor haunts of growing dark,
The slime will sweat, the crawlers teem,
You will not wake, this is no dream.

Descending into rotting cold,
You'll hear Its voices, deep and old,
And when their song has chilled your bone,
You'll know that you are not alone.

The path will dim and fall to end,
The soil below, itself shall rend,
The wyrm within shall rise without,
With blackened fur and horned snout.

And surely as the lichens gnaw,
It opens up its snarling maw,
The void beyond the smiling tooth,
Revealing long-forgotten truth.