Burning the dead tree,
Watch the black dryness against the angry flames.
I feel the tears run down,
Welling up inside of me is a scream...
Everything I need to let go.
I want to rip and tear,
The sting won't depart from me.
Once it is adhered to living, human skin,
It won't unhook its teeth.
Thus, I watch the tree.
Mimickeing everything inside of me,
The whole forest mocking me.
It is empty and dead...
Akin to me.
Having been this way for decades,
Truly I am only less than fourteen.
How is this feasible?
The scream that fills my head?
Waiting to be demolished.
Don't see beneath my skin,
I want them to...
But once inside they mutilate me even more.
So, burning tree, soon to be ash,
What will be my fate?
Blood boiling in an unknown disgust?
To cut until I find the truth?
...Or will my soul be taken before its time?...
I still have yet to scream.
Because the sound is reluctant to come,
Too much hate withers and writhes beneath it.
I close my eyes,
And seal my lips,
My insides melt in slow waves,
Unmarring my outside flesh,
Here I fall beside my tree,
The thing I will use to mark my blood upon,
It apprehended me,
Until I fell.
It hated me,
They I hate me.
I hated them,
More alone than they were aware,
My only comfort a withered tree.
Even it refused to speak to me.
At least I would have felt something if it even screamed.
But all I felt was anger and distaste.
Fate is such a twisted thing,
Full of irony and cruelty to maim.
For all those things,
It chose me.
I am hate.