my bed. me atop of it. the outline of my figure, delicate fingers, pen griped by three of the small, dainty branches upon my palms. a spiral notebook on my lap, knees up, hair up. my window behind me. a beautiful orangey pink and blue painted sky etched deeply in the view before me, hiding behind the glass and white frame of my window. two dark trees. they lay just between two plummeting hills. the trees appear to resemble black skeleton hands. the left tree, smaller, darker. the right tree, more limbs, the larger of the two, limbs climbing to the sky and they only thing the two have in common: death.
