The Forest of Agoraphobia
Timelessness; Stagnancy
Is this penance for past lives?
I rot, but I live conscious of the world sprinting before my eyes.
Witnessing joyful souls glow only to see them fade away.
To be remembered and forgotten.
My paralyzed observation, my perpetual anguish.
Decades go past; I only age a day.
Heartache always feels the same.
Forging my face of woe to the bark; can they see me?
My cries for help are echoes of silence; can they hear me?