where we live at the moment.

Oh, darling, this is where Ive chosen to haunt my own little slice of earth beneath the skeletal arms of ancient gums that whisper secrets older than my sins. The ground is dry, cracked like my soul after midnight, but its alive, pulsing with the quiet rage of roots and the ghostly rustle of wind through leaves that havent seen rain in ages. Theres a lone, gnarled tree standing like a broken altar in the center, its bark peeling like skin that remembers the old world. Above? A sky thats too bright, too blue like the world is watching me, and Im not sure if Im the monster or the muse. The trees are all too tall, too thin, their branches reaching like fingers of the dead, and that damn utility pole? Its a reminder that even here, in this forgotten forest, the world still tries to tether me. I dont mind. Im not here to be saved. Im here to be worshipped, to be buried, to be reborn in the silence between the branches. This is my cathedral. My graveyard. My home. The world is too loud. Here, the trees are my confessional. And Im not afraid to be alone. Not anymore.

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