Lost in the forest of himself
And there isn’t any beauty to explore there anymore
Only memories of emptiness in the presence of mourning trees those that never seem to brighten with morning
And pagan flowers that cant decipher through right and wrong, love and hate
And it’s hard not to hate
It’s hard not to hate when the rain doesn’t cleanse the pain anymore
Sole occupation and intention being to feed death to the already saturated forest trees
There’s no north star to guide one away from this perilous place
Nothing that gives proximity to ease or peace
There’s nothing that’s concordant with self unity and direction here
Only paths that lead to self destruction
……..He’s in need of some sort of conflagration to burn everything away
As drugs don't give him the high he needs anymore to get up up and away
Out of here, since he’s just so low
Arms suddenly immobile restricting him from embracing self
His heart doesn’t supply the love he needs for himself
Sleep can’t heal the pain anymore
And death seems more appealing than life
….He’s in need of some sort of conflagration
Copyright ©2011
[clearly i'm horrible with deadlines, but i'll keep trying ;)]
--Love and Freedom
--Kerry-Ann Davis
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