PAGES.

THE FUCKING PAGES.
paper cuts, lamination, shredders, printer malfunctions.
i don't have a page, i have a book.
but quick write me a map, don't use any paper, carve it into my hand. i've lost my way and i don't trust myself to get back.
the trail has worn down to overgrown grass and the stars are hiding behind the clouds. i've been in this forest before, but i've never seen that tree -- that boulder -- those foot prints. i can still smell the scent but i'm not sure if i should follow or retreat in fear. to get anywhere i have to break some branches. but this map, the map bleeding from my palm, gives me no directions. it simply drips, "oops". you did this, you set me up to get so lost.
when i was in that sinking sand i was dying but at least i knew where i was going.
but the trees are reaching out at me now, one cries in pain, one wraps it's arms around me. they compliment my socks they stroke their twigs through my hair.
BUT I'M NOT AFRAID OF THE DARK.
i give in to their sappy remarks and rough barks. i rise up into the branches, past the leaves, past the clouds, past the stars. finally i can see where i am and where i lost my way.
but the trees don't stop growing. passing through the atmosphere i feel my protection melt away. lost in space i've finally gotten what i asked for but i'm blue in the face.
sucking everything out of me.
implosion after implosion i suck myself into my own little black hole.
i'm my own little black hole.
but don't get too close.
you'll never get out.