Pinecones18 July 2017
I could fit a whole pinecone in my chest.
Force it between my ribs and spine
all its scales piercing my skin
from outside in
the pain still wouldn’t match you.
I want to burn it down to dust
a forest swept from our memories,
The only trees standing
fake, in the company of others.
We no longer smell natural.
I still feel you in every branch I touch
against my fingers and hands,
(Was I not tall enough for your standards?
Fuck you, you know
I’m scared of the dark)
I’m constantly trapped in the dead of us.
we could crumple down to compost, and
Instead, here I am.
Choking on chip bark memories.