¿Is this so much different than from my life? 

From dusk to dust then death, 

we cower before the ending of our pathetic cycles

5

We all do this weird thing when running away from death

We hobble around, stumbling across all the roots on the ground

we lose sight of what’s ahead because we’re afraid of the reaching vines.

4

Everything in life rushes by too quickly, 

It doesn't help that our necks our permanently turned behind our backs

Everything zooms by because of a fundamental fact of life.

We don’t like being touched by death

He might be behind us, reaching out with cold fingers to tear us down

He’s not behind us. 

Let me tell you; 

The Grim Reaper isn’t real. 

No one guides you once you die.

3

So here I am alone,

running away from a death that I’ve faced thousands of times before 

Rushing through the woods 

not daring to look away from the trees and their reaching tendrils

The ground below me sounds hollow, 

unreal as my feet pound down in an ever-repeating pattern of pat pat pat. 

The route is new, but every time it ends with a corpse

My corpse. 

Till I wake up once more just to die again.

2

I’m not being metaphorical.

1

I swear that the trees breathe. 

Eventually their hollowed, ragged breaths are heard wherever you go

You think it’s wind, but there’s a subtle pattern to the swooshing of the leaves

You only pick up on that pattern after a long time in the woods.

5 

A long time.

4 

The woods sing too. 

A hymnal of animals joining together to harmonize in a lovely tune

The hums and beats of leaves and flowers are meant to subdue you into a false sense of security Maybe God has finally relented and given you peace

Then all the harmonies come to eat you.

It takes a long time to learn that.

3

A long time.

2

I’m in a mosaic. 

Despite the horrid, endless cycle, it’s quite…beautiful 

There’s a weaving of red, blue, and mostly green leaves that cover the sky

The rainbow of foliage on the ground reminds me of autumn from the real world.

I miss the world.

1

I’m in Hell, probably. 

I’m probably in Hell. 

Except the inferno is lush with grand forestry and bright lights from a deep-blue sky. 

Why was I sent to Hell? 

I don’t know. 

At one time maybe I could give you that satisfaction, but there’s no twist here. 

I simply can’t remember. 

There are only so many times one can die before forgetting how they lived.

My name is gone as well.

5

It’s been a while. 

Somehow I retain sanity. 

The path that I chose to explore this cycle is north. 

Probably north It’s hard to tell

Compasses don’t work here; They spin around forever. 

Just like me

4

This path is boring. 

Dirt and gravel. 

The gravel that would get stuck in your shoes just to annoy you. 

3

I miss being annoyed.

2

There’s no exit here.

1

The water’s cold down in hell. 

Not a refreshing cold, 

but a freezing cold

But it’s water.

It’s especially wonderful to find something large enough to swim in

The serenity is nice to stumble across 

a distraction as long as you ignore the monsters that dwell beneath you

Nightmares are real here, 

but only nightmares. 

5

When I float in the surprisingly calm waters, 

in the breathing jungle taking in the cleanest air, 

I wish I could be the trees.

Unburdened by the counting of seconds.

4

It’s impossible to ignore the countdown, though. 

As much as I try, the forest has its cycles too

Through all the infinite chaos of the trees,

 a bird sings at five. 

A lovely song. 

Two hums and a tweet. 

At first it grated on my ears like nails on a chalkboard-

except that the chalkboard is my skin

but now the song is the only orchestra I can get. 

I welcome the hums.

At four, the trees scream with the wind. 

A gust flies through shaking the leaves down in a rainbow shower. 

The air is always hot and muggy, but the brief breeze—

reminds me to keep moving forward. 

Maybe, I could feel the real wind again. 

Then a screeching 

3 

sound of metal cracks open in the sky. 

All the things below me scatter out disturbing the peace.

The rocks, the vines, even the water, 

anything and everything in this forest bursts to life, 

and I’m left standing in an empty hole of dirt. 

Everything scatters away from me

Always, without fail, I 

2

Run. It’s an instinct, that, regardless of the futility, can’t be stopped. 

Maybe this is the time that I can outrun it.

run Run RUN RUN ¡RUN!

Maybe there is peace just beyond…

1

How

5

Do

4

I

3

Die

2

?

1

I don’t know. 

¿What if this is the suicide forest from Inferno? 

The reason why the trees breathe like people is because they once were people. 

Then the woods would be different in my mind. 

5

Being in the forest would be more peaceful than the poem portrayed it as. 

To be a tree forever. 

To not have to worry about the stresses of life anymore and to sit. 

Unless they feel pain.

4

¿What if that’s what I did?

¿Did I drive someone to become a part of this forest? 

¿Is that why the slashes at like I’m paper?

¿Revenge? 

3

At least I appreciate poetic justice. 

2

¿Can the forest just let me leave? ¿Does it have the power to do so?

1

Hell is bad.

5

4

3

2

1

I want to leave. 

5

4

Even if the memory of whatever my sad little life was are gone,

 I still have the feelings

All the small little details that passed me by

I would do anything just to say hello to someone once more. 

Once more 

3

2

1

¿Is this so much different than from my life? 

From dusk to dust then death, 

we cower before the ending of our pathetic cycles

5…