You brought punishment to careless trees,
clipping the parts of their bodies
that had dared to try and touch humanity.
Everything should know its place.
I wonder if you heard the rustling leaves laughing
when the saw took your finger.
Do you know what they thought
of the taste of your blood?
Were they drunk from it,
and victory, thinking you would run
from a taste of your own medicine
and never come back to wound them again?
Pity them. The trees could never shake you,
could never keep you from climbing up their trunks,
heart darkened with murderous intent.
Pity me. I could never shake you,
could never keep you from climbing into my skull,
heart darkened by whatever demons
the dismemberment of trees could not quiet.