our fucking mortality
and weak pulsating blood feeds
the mishapen poisoned tree of life
wets its parched bitter roots

which  suck at our sickly loose flesh
and steel  its bough
for the tautness of the bow
and the slip  of the hangman's noose.

the contagion of our veins  

illed through being  

contort its frighted limbs

and grim splayed fruitless branches
its knotted clawing sinewed fingers

ever pointing guiltilly
sharply tearing away at the veiled face

of bloody existence

flaying the barbed skin of  time.

as within the decaying trunk

its sterile seed screams

screeches even
unearthly through our blood
for the sweet kiss of the axe

but instead we weary

O  how we weary 

ensnared by corded tendrils

bound to  pointless  martyrdom
of  routine human sacrifice
in the relentless and perhaps..

spiritually inescapable 

forest of despair.

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