Forests To Be Burned
 

Slide into my skin and dance across the page like candlelight,
scream until the metallic taste of blood seeps to calloused throat,
and eyes are broken orbs of red
spider-webbed glass

In these pages stamp your feet on the skulls
of dead you've left behind.
Glide gently,
clowds of fingertips slide across your face,

We awake like victims pulled from a car crash,
reality's fleshy hand slapping us in the face, tearing our skin
leaving bloodied stains on clenched fists, and broken heels

Smile once again and look to ink to guide the way.
In these pages, we are born, we die, and are ressurected.
As the candle dwindles and begins to drown itself
in it's tears of milk wax,
there is no lesson to be learned,
only forests to be burned.