a tree with no roots.
my bones are chipping away like an old trunk
and my veins have gone cold.
am i of the desert or the forest? i can’t decide.
i believe i belong to neither side.
well, i feel quite dry
a bit of rain would be just fine
but at the same time, the sun is lacking these days
no heat in the pit of my stomach
just resting dust pooling at the bottom.
i’m no vampire, but i bear no blood
just rotting teeth and a fruitless tongue.
i speak no more than i barely breathe
thus the reason why my mouth is compared to an old floor-board;
when i try to open up, it creaks.
i tell myself no more,
because no one needs to hear me.
i am the old sofa in a grandfather’s library.