I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.

THERE'S A ROAD THAT WINDS DOWN TO THE BAY,
WITH WOODEN HOUSES AND BALCONIES THAT SWAY,
THEY MOVE IN THE WIND AND SPEAK OF THE PAST,
TELL ABOUT SHADOWS AND WHO WAS THERE LAST,
PEOPLE HAVE CHANGED BUT THE VIEW IS THE SAME,
THE SAME SHIPLAP, THE SAME BEDROOMS, SAME PAIN
AS WHEN I WAS THERE RUNNING FINGERS
THROUGH YOUR HAIR, WAITING AT THE LAMPPOST
AND LEANING ON THE CAR, WATCHING THE BOATS
UNDER A STAR WHICH HAD ALWAYS BEEN THERE
SINCE GOD PLACED IT IN THE SKY, MADE
SUNSETS AND WATER AND VIEWS THAT MADE YOU SIGH;
SLANTING SIDEWALK, STEPS THAT TALK WHEN
YOU ASK THEM - THEY SAY, THERE'S A NEW  DOCK ON THE BAY.

The universe was on my side when I bought that winning ticket. I stumbled upon more money than I knew what to do with. The first objective on my list was to get out of that awful apartment. The paper thin walls made it hard to exist. The musty smell of leaky faucets. Now I could go anywhere. Do, or be anything. The run down city I used to call home, became old news so I left it behind.

I flew across the sea, traveling along northern European lands until I found a little forest on the boarder of coastline. I made an appointment to procure this piece of land, a blank slate that I could manipulate into whatever I desired. A quiet place I could finally create the peace I always craved.

The day was damp, foggy, and gray. I drove up the gravel road I had already explored. A powerful sensation of dread crept into my spine, and burned my chest, it grew the closer I got to the little shack in the grove. I refused to acknowledge any thoughts of negativity, this was everything I had ever wanted, and needed. All my life I longed for a secluded little space to be inspired from, to evolve into my personal sanctuary.

I imagined a pool house and detached sauna. Three stories of cement with skylights in every room on the top floor. I saw an acre of landscape with waterfalls and ponds. Oh the work I have ahead of me to transform this lost land. Time had done its damage but it will soon be mine to improve. There are trees to be cut, bushes to be trimmed, and grass to be uprooted for the driveway.

The atmosphere grew colder as I pulled up to the broken windows and chipped shiplap. The only structure within the vast acreage I would acquire. The foliage was overgrown leading to the tree line. Behind the tall grass, more acres of woods stood waiting to be explored for what could be the first time in a century. The sound of the creek, the large meadow opposite of the trees, it all seemed too perfect to imagine. Yet, those feelings of dread and displacement grew larger than the tip of the oaks that stood before me.

The little house was decrepit. Whoever built it left without finishing. The roof was missing shingles, and the walls were rotten with mold. The windows had broken from swelling in the misty morning fog. Food left on tables I could smell from a distance. The realtor said the last owners only stayed a few weeks before leaving without a trace. Surely everything here had to go, including the branches than had fallen in front of the door. Demolition was now at the top of my list. I would hire a team to quickly tear down everything in sight.

I had seen all I needed to see. The decision was easily made. I needed this place to be mine, but that feeling in my spine, in the chest, it crawled into my throat. I stepped to the edge of the tree line, and the wind blew so hard it ****** me into the branches. The sound of the forest grew louder than my own thoughts. There were different languages I had never heard before, for the wind, the leaves, and the insects that now surrounded me. These voices boomed and consumed my entire mind until they synchronized. They tried every language until finding the one I understood.

It was clear I was unwelcome here. This untouched place, full of ghosts and beech trees. The voices spoke and told me I should leave. Humans weren’t welcome in this part of their realm. The tornado of wind finally slowed down and I was able to see. Skulls and other bones, piled around me. Some more decayed than others, but all human. No animal carcass in sight. They intertwined with the roots, were half eaten by fallen leaves. The collective voice spoke to me again, it said if I were to linger too long this would surely be my end. That the forest would **** me in and use my body to bloom. With every corpse it claimed, the forest grew.

I felt breathless as another gust of wind spat me out. I wanted this place! It was mine! I needed the natural world at my side, but it did not want me. It wanted no part of my vision of planned destruction. It would rather feed on the death of the most natural parts of me.

I left quickly, as to not further disturb this evil sanctuary. The message was clear and I followed the instructions. I left all that beauty behind, untouched, and wondered if the previous owners had become part of the woodland graveyard. Did they stay and try to commune into nature, to learn and grow and speak their language? Or did they flee, like me?

I still value my life, and I do not want it to end.

Why would I when I still have all that money to spend?