(the trees have eyes)

(i dream about them sometimes)

I don't always sleep easily. I have crippling regrets. Most of them happened when I was "asleep." The fact that I sleep at all is purely born of the biological need. I hate sleeping, I hate rest, I hate wasting seconds where I could be doing something.

(fire; warm comfort licking the hair off your skin)

Sometimes I ask to be monitored. Sometimes I walk a line I can't stop. I've checked myself into insane asylums - multiple. But those are even worse for me. The sickness gathers there like sludge on the doors. No child's eyes are more haunted than when restricted to the cool, padded walls of an inescapable place.

(they see you, they always see)

Faking sanity's never been hard. Given enough practice at imitation and anything's possible. But I always remember the things I want to forget when I'm asleep.

(it's no different - the trees watch them and they are so alone. so so alone. they are there and you are here and isn't that such an injustice? no one deserves to be there more than you)

Hell.

Some nights I lie awake and wish I were in Hell instead of the people I put there. Sometimes I think of the last glance they gave me. Of their parting wishes. Of the ways they asked me to respect them in their Deaths.

Sometimes I lie awake and I still hear their voices. Clear and bright as the midday sun. Some of them want to drag me down with them. Some of them want me to stand up straight and tall. Be strong in their stead. Most nights I wish the echoes of guilt would just shut. the fuck. up.

(your fault...)