What it feels

I miss what it feels to be a child again
I am a dusty portrait of myself now
A forsaken leaf, in winter's winds
I am the green of the forgotten past
Where footsteps cared to walk off shoes
I am today the void left in the bark
Waiting for the grasshopper's peek
I still have a beating bleeding heart
And I long for the stone I am yet to be.

I narrate myself to the sepulchre
Where dots of fire form helical ink
In the woods of lonely nothingness
My shoulders ache when fingers speak
Deepest nights meet my dreams
And circle into the cloudy trees
My walk of death isn't a narrow escape
It slow poisons and lets me be.