Braised, indented

Eyes have been opened by swelling shut.

My body looks rotten.

I am grounded: I thought I was grounded,

A part of the world I am. 

Stare and question where I come from,

or, more where I am going.

I have to move on, to the earth or below? 

The memory is sore and worn;

The beauty marks on my skin. 

My skin and I crawl to recovery, 

my knees are scraped in the progress

and I need to escape this process.

I'm numb to the touch.

The core is pulsating, limbs could be breaking.

I am no longer rooted indefinitely,

in fact,

I was barely planted. 

Carved hearts remain as slates are abused.

Scarred and forgotten,

but everything seems to be new. 

The thirst for a raindrop, reaching toward the light 

Far from enlightened. 

Twisting, yearning, then wilting.

Sinking lower and lower as I grow taller and taller.

Branching out and becoming;

And then I am barren. 

A part of the world I still am, 

And indeed, but how am I a part of something 

If that something does not know what it needs?

Continue on, you'll prosper. 

At least you're bruising.