Searching through the same old subterfuge,

bits of shrapnel cut into my day old skin.

Defiantly determined to dodge the deluge,

I refuse to drown despite being unable to swim.

A pair of possessed peepers watch my dance,

branches bristle then crunch under unseen feet.

I am on auto-pilot. Failure's left me in a trance,

as I am hollow as the corpses of rotten trees.

I grab a handful of gangrene covered leaves—

squeeze every tear out of my stony heart.

Avert your gaze while this lifelong widow grieves,

with heaving chest, I fall apart.

This enchanted forest is haunted by my remorse,

unable to escape its curse unless I learn;

the end will come once I bury my dead, beaten horse,

until then, the world will not stop burning.