chop, chop there goes a branch falling in an empty forest, like that time he tried to fly. and fell and broke more than just his ribs, oh well.
chop, chop, pick up the mess, keep growing. cut down pieces of him make firewood from his fragments, he always burned so bright, go on, take some more: he’s always open to being torn apart to keep his love warm.
chop, chop, autumn freezes over when he cries tears of blood for all the times his rage turned into a forest fire an earthquake, a natural disaster- natural, because he was born with the skin of a landslide, collapsing at the speed of the birds that tried to rest in his chest but then flew away, leaving parts of him hollow, empty homes.
chop, chop, he’s scarred all over, from that time he thought he could write love on himself if he bled enough. the rain cries with him. but, oh, when the wind blows and his bent form dances in happiness- even spring can’t resist his charm
chop, chop, you can’t break him.
- splintered blossoms | vans.
Supernatural Poetry Challenge | @bennyandthevamps vs wintersdean (bennylaffite)
Theme: Nature | Prompt: Trees
