Violet tree grows next to my bed,
and I lay staring through the vibrancy of its color.
If bees are to fly around one day,
I hope they sting me, hurt me, I hope they find their way.
I have to be born again,
because this is how I drained,
I’m guilty of spilling my briskness all over the place.
I want to repent, is it too late?
I relentlessly put out my inward fires,
never thought of my fate.
Was it long ago when my eyes did dilate?
These trees seem static, unapologetically sedate,
and they hold flowers just like bridal attire,
if I were not mute now,
I’d tell the story of being electroshocked,
by some fearsome wires.
Nobody saw how I broke open,
how spasmodically I let out my desires,
but now we know,
all it takes to tear me down is just faint gunfire.
It’s a dreamscape,
I don’t believe in rebirth,
I see,
I used to be enough to water forests,
I was the quivering sea,
but all life brings me now,
is one almost hopeless violet tree.