Crimson vines wrap around my body,
Thorns digging into my side,
How I wish I was smaller so I wouldn’t have to feel,
The blood trickling down my hips and thighs.
With dry and scuffed hands I claw
At the hard Earth around me,
Fighting not to be reclaimed by the ashes,
That once as flames, consumed these trees.
And just as I thought I had reached the end,
Particles of sunlight stinging my eyes;
I see the ground begin to close around me once more,
Mud enveloping my size.
As the blood begins to gush,
The vines strengthen their grip,
I cry, and cry, and cry for freedom,
As back into the grave I dip.