I am a little autumnal twig, awaiting my burial Ramya Iyer Canto 1 Dampened shoes, Fuzzy hair, Eyes sore, Lips hurt, The crooked willow tree follows me as I walk on streets with no streetlights, They shone last night but decided to take a slumber for this one, This one is brutal, and it digs a wound right in the middle, I can see the blood rushing down my chest I am restlessly trying to wipe it off, Aghast and Pained, It is a premonition of death, Death is dear but not a friend yet, We need to have a coffee sometime and get to know each other better, And then I shall let it hold me across my waist, Slowly it will run its frostbitten fingers on me, Painlessly we shall kiss, Softly, In Quiet, Under the naked willow tree, The one that followed me in the dark, It will cast a webbed shadow on our naked bodies, Reminds me of that poem I read, by the self-loathing poet" If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee"
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