the growth, the divide
the needles, the hooks.
these winds blow hard and weigh heavy upon the trees
though we feel so little, the wind is fast.
the quickening in my veins, the racing blood
information overload and i fall to submission
holding onto what is not, holding on to what has past.
the dust blows hard through my clothing and dirties everything inside.
cutting deep and darkening the blood.
the bone is breaking, the skin is tearing
the reasons escape me as the eyes slam shut.
the hole in the ground grows and hunts me down.
time is on no one's side.
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