There you stand with an open hand and a body of pine. Tremble and wake you seem to break all the glass bones in your body. The sound of speak seems too bleak to clench to your rapine of a mouth. As the sunset flames it blur’s away all the mistakes you had hidden behind. As you turn away your eyes escape the bitterness of time. It felt like days since you’d been away but you heart was still declined. Your eyelashes of vine will flutter away and nothing will be insight. Because when your eyes are made out of stone there is never really is a hue that could hold the weight of your mind. So you push out your hands made out of stems and leaves and try to fly. Only to realize it isn’t your time. Because only the living is worthy of flight. Not a fragile body made out of and pine.