Give up the Ghost

As the willow's windows release I can hear the unborn screams.
I can touch the unborn seedlings as autumn dies
The wind bellows beneath surrounding the harmless and beckons me closer
My garments are awhirl of magenta and flames of curiosity
Which only my tongue can taste
My curls separate as the howling wind segregates
And now I can distinguish the corpses hanging from the smutty branches.
I cannot find my place among the tarnished dead,
There are exhausted daises underfoot that remind me of my innocence
And as an ornament held my heart in its brutal claws,
I heard the wind whisper words that I had never heard before.
A response escaped my chapped and bleeding lips which didn't fit with the
atmosphere,
Sweat covered my forehead; I belched.
"Can't we just finish this next week?"