I Am the Wood

the animals and bugs are my thoughts; crawling and sliding and writhing, running and screaming everywhere in every direction— wherever they want— all at once. the trees are my pillars of sanity, standing tall in the midst of chaos, holding up my only hope for survival— tying this collection of bedlam together with their obsessive roots; tentacles of will. the dirt is my subconscious pillow; crookedously lopsiding the transmissions from the stars like lightning crashing down my spine and out through my fingertips till I break something new. my mind is alive.