The Forest is Fucked
All I can think about right now is how many trees I’ll have
to kill to collect enough pages.
Pages strong enough to carry the weight of my words.
The words of the ways you’ve tortured my soul,
killed my spirit,
suffocated my light.
All that consumes me is the anger I feel
while cracking open notebook after notebook,
flipping corner after corner,
trying to write the damn pain out of me.
But there is not enough ink in the world.
There are not enough trees in the forest.
I will run out of trees. I will run out of paper.
Sorry Mother Nature,
You can blame him.