all looks different when leaves are still gone yet the weather becomes warm.
i sit alone because alone is how i can think.
i get scared in this mindset,
for i am impulsive,
yet afterthoughts abuse me.
it was there among the woods that we spoke of relapse and rehab.
he is now gone and i am still here.
it was there among the meadow that i rotted away to skin and bones to feed the flowers that were more beautiful than me.
i now realize that i am a flower,
although i feel like a weed.
it was there among the old oak that i dreamt of tying rope,
thick neck finally thin as a skeleton hanging.
i just wanted to feed the flowers.
but i am no food.
i am a poison who must remain in contact with herself.
i sit on rusted metal with rusted blades because i need to remind myself of the toxicity of my blood.
if i die, i rain.
if i rain on the flowers, they die.
these afterthoughts eat at my mind.
The Quill 