These Woods

These woods are fucking me up.

Every time I walk into the forest, I’m afraid I might stick to the bark on the trees.

I sit by the campfire until the smoke sinks into every pore of my skin, into every fiber of my clothes, into every strand of my hair.

The mountain has become my prison.

There’s a puddle of stream water floating inside me.

It’s flooding all my feelings.

What am I supposed to care about besides these fucking woods?

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