Crooked Tree

Crooked Tree, there’s so much of you to me. I whisper to the wind my confession. This heart of mine is quite GRIM and GLOOMY. Of FEELINGS; not one goes without question. WISTFUL; I reach beyond the canopy. Lovelorn and lost in hell among the crowd; wondering absently in agony through eternity. Lost beneath it’s SHROUD. Endless days, months, and years in precession. Every second of time from dusk til’ dawn I wage a war against my DEPRESSION. Emotionally broken and WITHDRAWN. Withstanding the winds of MELANCHOLY requires more grain than the common holly.