The trees sway back and forth
With spotted compliance
Their dead brothers dance
about my feet,
Skipping in blind acceptance,
Humming a tune
I am underwater.
The wind rushes past my face
Like a silk sheet
Pretending to be a friend
But really suffocating.
A smile is there, in truth
With the perpetual waning moon
And the roars that call my heart
I am underwater.
Dark, Cold, Alone.
A pulsing, a thrashing, a calming hand.
I sit on a bench, on the first of November
waiting.
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